


Captivus

by kdblaylock93



Series: Anima [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hogwarts Third Year, Horcruxes, Mentor Severus Snape, Possessive Behavior, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, TEMPORARY Hiatus, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdblaylock93/pseuds/kdblaylock93
Summary: The Captivus Curse; used when an agreement cannot be reliably sealed between two parties using the collateral of life or magic. Instead, it utilizes a third party as a 'captive' whose life is forfeit if terms are breached....Harri didn't know what she was getting into when she made a deal with Tom Riddle down in the Chamber of Secrets. Severus Snape, on the other hand, knows exactly what he's doing.After all, it's our choices that show what we really are.





	1. Harri Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Part 3 of a series. Invisus and Memoriae are Hogwarts Year 1 and 2 AUs. It is suggested that you read them first before reading this work. If you want to skip ahead I have a series called Compendio (Anima) that gives the abridged version of those two works. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

They were at the Ministry in Tirana to meet one of Albus’ contacts- again.

For a Dark Lord who was often said to be in Albania, no one seemed to know where exactly in Albania he was. It had been a long three weeks.

Leaving England had taken more time than Snape cared to admit. Albus thought it best to request a freeze on all international travel before they set out anywhere. A plan he begrudgingly agreed was a good one. International Appirition was very difficult, and using side-along would be near impossible. He couldn’t imagine a situation where they went to Albania without a Portkey.

Basic Portkey’s were easy enough for a witch or wizard to cast, but International Portkeys were strictly regulated. It would be simple to traffic dangerous goods and animals without regulation. A request had to be placed and evaluated with the Department of Travel and Imports; it could take weeks to process.

The freeze went into place and the International Portkey requests for the next week were investigated. However, it was Arthur Weasley’s department that came to the conclusion that Harriet Potter was no longer in the country. A Harriet Evans was found to be traveling with a Thomas Gaunt to Greece via Muggle airplane. The money they tendered for their flight was conjured, altering Weasley’s department that something was amiss at Heathrow.

How was Harriet traveling so docilely? Had there not been a chance to run? Or was Tom Riddle threatening to kill every Muggle in his path if he had to get her back?

Severus wanted to curse Albus for waiting. Ultimately Tom Riddle and Harriet Potter arrived in Greece four days before their travel was discovered. From there Snape imagined they could manage a bus or train to Albania. The Horcrux would be able to find the main part of its soul without any trouble; it would be like a beacon flashing in the night.

Was Harriet already there in the clutches of Voldemort? There could be no doubt.

They had an emergency Portkey approved within hours of Weasley’s discovery and were taken directly to the Albanian Ministry in Tirana.

The Albanian Ministry of Magic was much smaller than Englands’. It was to be expected. In Britain, there were about 50,000 witches and wizards. Albania only had about 2,000. The Albanian Ministry was just a branch of the Balkan Alliance which included: Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Yugoslavia- though now the muggles were saying that Yugoslavia would be six separate countries! What a mess for the Ministry. Their combined strength equated to about 40,000 witches and wizards that were an underserved magical population if there had ever been one.

With the recent fall of the Soviet Union, Severus wondered how the Magical Education System would fare. There was a small Soviet Style school in Yugoslavia for Balkan students, The Pover (or was it now in Montenegro?). It was able to take on about five hundred students. The other five hundred had been split between Durmstrang in Germany and Koldovstoretz in the Soviet- no that wasn’t right… Russian Federation.

Poland’s school, Czaryszkola, had some eight hundred national students with various other Iron Curtain children filtered in from Hungary, Czechoslovakia- no that wasn’t right either- Slokavia and the Czech Republic. Not to mention some 150,000 students dealing with the current upheaval at Koldovstoretz and the other former Soviet Union schools. Would the historic Baltic Magija Mokykla be reinstated? The Marya Institue in Ukraine return to being a local school? They had been flooded with ethnic Russian and Central Asian Students, with locals sent to the Sykirmekter in Kyrgyzstan.

The educator in him worried greatly for these students. What kind of education had they received over the last few years of political upheaval? Had the Muggle problems affected the Magical? The Ministry claimed that it didn’t- but they had been known to exaggerate and lie. The Russian Dark Lord, The Moroz, was not known for transparency with his European neighbor. The Kupala, the Lady Light; had she even been heard from in the last decade? Why would Voldemort decide to hide here of all places? Muggle Wars were every which way and those Soviet types had always made Severus’ skin crawl.

Yggdrasil’s roots grew, certainly, but they were at the fringes of her border. Out beyond were the wilds of old Rus, it was the rushing of the rivers that gave power there, and it was a power that was not for Voldemort or Dumbledore to touch.

Things moved much slower than Severus liked in Albania. The Ministry was as helpful as they could manage, but they were short staffed and overworked. They had a general idea of where Voldemort might be hiding but had not further investigated.

“Dark Spirits should stay where they belong, in the Dark,” one wizard had told them firmly.

“You do no good meddling with that kind of magic,” said a witch.

“If the girl is gone, she is gone,” one official had shrugged when Dumbledore tried for a fourth time to get the Ministry to approve travel in the country. Why couldn’t they just say Bugger, and go out unsanctioned? Dumbledore was reluctant to force the issue.

“Now Severus, we can’t cause an international incident. They’re likely to turn back to the Russian Federation if we don’t act appropriately. The magic here is wild, a mixture of the two territories. The International Community can’t afford to blast through doors and alienate a country so… imbalanced.”

“People might die if we don’t put a stop to this” Severus had hissed as the second week had drawn to a close. They had been granted permission to travel south to look through several unplottable forests, but it was a specific forest to the northeast of the country that was the most promising. There had been several disappearances over the last decade.

“People might die if we lose the Balkan Alliance. Civil Unrest or a return to Old Rus could result in thousands of lives lost. The Magi Union of Europe will not stand for the loss of the Balkans again. It would mean war, Severus.”

Bloody Supreme Mugwump. If there was one piece of advice he was going to give Harriet, it was to avoid any International titles. They made for a Lord of Light too cautious and unwilling to act. All of this could be avoided if Albus just threw his weight around more. Used his powers to make them listen…

That would make him more like the Dark Lord, Snape thought ruefully. Well, one thing he could say for the Dark Lord was that he got things done. Buerocracy was cut to ribbons in favor of efficiency.

If he returned maybe… but that was no good either. Lily, he reminded himself. Lily. The man killed Lily. It didn’t matter that he was _doing_ something as the Dark Lord, opposite of Albus’ policy of doing very little. It didn’t matter that the Dark Lord’s call for _change_ was overdue and that the bloated Ministry needed to be dealt with.

The Dark Lord had murdered Lily.

It was odd, he hadn’t had a positive thought about the Dark Lord’s policies in years… that was off.

The Dark Lord must be stronger. Or maybe Severus was closer and could feel that call on his magic. He felt repulsed by himself. He had claimed in the Chamber that he had no master, but it seemed that the pull of the Dark Lord’s magic was still there.

Did that mean that Harri had already been used? He pulled up his sleeve to look at the Dark Mark. It wasn’t the black it had been a decade ago. After the Dark Lord’s fall, it had faded to look like a white scar. It didn’t look like a scar anymore- it was a soft grey. Not returned, but gaining power.

Harriet… where was she? And when would this bureaucratic nonsense be over so that they could properly search for her?

* * *

In another life, Sirius Black would have crowed to his friends that he was the only known escaped convict from Azkaban. In a different world, he wouldn’t have been in Azkaban to begin with, but he could image Jame’s hazel eyes smirking in mischief at Sirius’ achievement.

“The truest Marauder of them all,” he would have said, thumping Sirius on the back.

James was dead. Lily was dead. Peter was a traitor. And he was innocent. It was a truth that could never be taken away from him by the rattling pull of the Dementors. Peter betrayed them. Peter was the one in league with the Dark Lord.

It had been known by many fellow inmates that it was Peter Pettigrew, not Sirus Black, who had been the one who had betrayed the Potters. They wanted Peter dead just as much as Sirius did, certain that Peter had led the Dark Lord into a trap that had lead to his downfall by little Harriet.

His pup.

The thing the dementors couldn’t take were the miserable thoughts, and nothing made him more miserable than thinking of Harriet. She was all alone in the world. She wouldn’t go to Remus, so that only left Petunia. Which meant that his little pup had grown up with the worst sort of Muggles.

He didn’t know much about Lily’s sister, but he did know that James had gotten into a fist fight with Vernon Dursley at the Evans’ funeral. The man had called Lily a whore.

That’s what he had always thought, but now he knew that it had been Snape to raise Harriet. Somehow a known Death Eater had gotten his hands on little Harriet. Snivellus. If he had thought a childhood with the Dursleys was bad, how much worse would a childhood with Snape be? Sure, he and Lily had been friends, but Snape hated James.

Sirius could picture with perfect clarity Harriet’s small toddler face… all of fifteen months old with hazel eyes and Jame’s rueful smile as she toddled along, grasping onto Pa’foo’s fur.

Had she been treated to the same sorts of antics that he and James had inflicted on Snape at school? Was the girl regularly spelled upside down if she displeased him? Were her punishments to chop for endless hours in a potion’s lab? Or were they more sinister? Who knew that revenge Severus Snape could inflict upon Harriet.

Snape had gone after her according to the paper… that was a promising thought. Snape wouldn’t go after Harriet by himself into the Chamber of Secrets unless he cared for her at least a little. Severus Snape slaying a Basilisk, who would have thought.

But that wasn’t the issue at hand. Harriet was missing now. Kidnapped by the Heir of Slytherin, whoever that was. And Sirius bet he was one of the few people in the world who could find her. He had a plan.

A four-step plan to be exact- and a Marauder with a plan would never fail.

 

**Step 1- Go to Gringotts**

If anyone noticed the black dog walking through Gringotts they didn’t show it. Sirius had a letter in his mouth to give to a goblin. It would explain that he was Sirius Black and needed a private meeting with the Black Account manager.

Goblins didn’t care about silly things like convicted criminals needing to make bank withdrawals. Or he could rely on the fact that the Black fortune had been slowly growing to a gargantuan size under Goblin Protection since the fall of Rome.

Either way, he was willing to bet the Goblin wouldn’t be calling the Ministry.

Sure enough, once he got a Goblin to reluctantly take the letter, he was shown to a back room where he could transform.

  


**Step 2- Get into Black Family Vault and get a wand**

“Hello, Roc,” Sirius said to the aged goblin who greeted him in the anti-chamber after a quarter of an hour.

“Mmmh, Young Mr. Black. We had heard that you were about,” Roc replied.

“Had you? I thought I’d made good time from the Black Sea!”

The Goblin glared.

“Ah, um- yes. Well, I received word that my mother passed on while I was away,” Sirius said.

“Yes… she was so pleased with you, you know. She had you written out of the will when your father passed in ‘79, but what with your incarceration, she was quite insistent that you had returned to the fold.”

Sirius clenched his fists. “Yes, well my mother thought a great many things.” Roc appraised him with a hard-edged look. He had served as Investment Manager to the Black family for five generations.

“To the ritual then?” the goblin asked with an evil grin. Sirius supposed this was the part that never got old for the Roc the Ruthless.

“Yes,” he said, hoping that he had enough blood in his emaciated body to manage the Black Family Inheritance Rites.

 

**Step 3- Enact the super special secret Godfather ritual**

Lily had been surprised to learn that Godfather had more meaning in the Magical World than the Muggle one. Most Wizards and Witches weren’t Anglican, so Sirius had suppressed a jeer when Lily though that so many Wizards took part in the practice for religious reasons.

“Don’t be daft, Lily,” he had scoffed instead. Her emerald green eyes had narrowed into a glare.

“Why would you do it then, if it’s not religious?”

“For the protection,” James had supplied hastily. He was used to Lily and Sirius bickering.

“Protection? Good Lord, is this another one of those exaggerated Wizarding rituals? My hand still hasn’t healed from that ritual knife we used at our wedding, James.”

“Yes, it’s another one of those rituals. But this one really is a good one Lils. A Godfather, or Godmother for that matter, exchanges blood with the child. They swear to protect that child if they ever hear of harm coming to them before their age of majority. It’s a safeguard.”

“Doesn’t that seem overblown? And what does harm even mean? If Harriet falls down a step is Sirius going to be honor bound to blow up the staircase?”

“Now who is overblowing it!” Sirius had laughed. “No, it’s only for the big stuff. Like kidnapping for a ransom or something. Used to happen all the time. You have a Godparent to run after the kid and act as a non-paternal mediator. Or someone to blast in doors and take names. Whichever one is more appropriate.”

“Is this a bit archaic?” Lily had asked nervously.

“Well it isn’t exactly common,” Sirius had explained. “But with a Dark Lord running around like this, don’t you think it’s for best? Shouldn’t someone be able to find her no matter what?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lily had said, looking down at her squirming daughter. “I just don’t like to think-”

“I know, Lily,” James had said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “But it will turn out alright, you’ll see.”

 

 

Sirus was down in the Black Family Storage Vault. Now armed with a wand, he unfurled a map of Europe to see where Harriet had gotten off to. Quite a few changes, he noted looking at the updated countires of Eastern Europe.

He found the ceremonial dagger and pricked his finger to let a few droplets of blood dribble onto the map.

“ _Invenire, quae sunt amissa,”_ he cast with his Aunt Lucretia’s wand. He hadn’t known that she had died, but had always liked her.

His blood glowed, coming together into a hardened bead. It began to roll away from London, where he had let the drops hit. Across the Channel, down and completely across Germany, over Austria, down into the Balkans until it came to rest…

Albania. Well, that certainly cleared things up. There were only so many wizards who ran around claiming to be the Heir of Slytherin.

It was Voldemort.

 

**Step 4- Find Harriet. Kick-Ass. Take Names.**

This step might be easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you want? Harri and Tom. What did you get? Sirius and Snape. Next time, my friends. It will be all Tom and Harri.


	2. Litha

Harri had snuck through the school enough times to know that their escape would be without issue. The invisibility cloak, which she had always viewed as a blessing, now felt like a curse.

Up the pipe they had gone, after a hiss for stairs from Tom, and into Myrtle’s bathroom. Harri had wanted to call out to Myrtle, but something stopped her. It was like a barrier on her tongue that prevented her from speaking. If she pushed through she was sure that she could vocalize a call for help, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Her magic was giving her a warning that to call out would be to break her oath. Sure she could do it, but the line in the sand was clear.

Harri didn’t call out, and carefully walked down the eerily empty halls of Hogwarts, until they reached the Great Hall and slid out of the school with no one the wiser. Riddle led her down to the Hogwarts Gate and smiled happily as they reached the barrier.

“Dumbledore will know that we’re gone now,” he said cheerily, taking out Harri’s wand. “The Headmaster can always tell if someone is coming or going through the grounds.”

Harri looked around desperately from under the cloak, hoping to see Dumbledore rushing towards them. He didn’t appear. For the moment it took Tom to whisk them away, Harri was struck with how helpless she felt. Would it always be like this? Harri alone in the world, and no matter what the adults said- in the end, it was Harri who had to take care of herself.

Then they apparated with a pop.

The squeezing sensation always made Harri feel like she was about to vomit, but it was over quickly enough. They couldn’t have gone too far. Certainly not all the way to Albania. When Dumbledore apparated them to Norway and Germany she had felt like the squeezing sensation would never end.

They appeared in a village.

They were standing at the head of a lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.

“Let us remove the cloak,” said Riddle. “No need to hide, no one would expect us to come here first.”

“Where is here?” Harri asked. Why would Riddle take her to a quaint English village?

“Godric’s Hollow,” Riddle replied, stowing the Cloak in his robe pocket.

Riddle made to walk forward, but Harri was rooted to the spot. He took her hand and tried to lead her on, but she shook her head.

It was in Godric’s Hollow that, but for Voldemort, Harri would have had a family and grown up. She would have spent her school holidays here. She might have had brothers and sisters. Her mother might have made her birthday cakes. Her father would have taught her to fly. The life she had lost, but that hardly seemed like it could have been real at all… This is where it would have been.

This lane would have been familiar, not just a lane in a village she did not know.

“Come along, Harriet. You’re making a fuss.”  She felt the push of magic at his words and made her feet move.

“I’ve never been here before,” she told him. “Why are we here now?”

“My wand,” he said simply. He hadn’t let go of her hand yet and was leading her down the lane.  

“Your wand can’t be here still! They would have taken it with your body.”

“My body?” he asked, almost laughing. “There couldn’t have been a body. That vessel would have been destroyed when my soul was ripped away by the Killing Curse.”

“How could your wand be here? The Ministry would have found it, wouldn’t they have?"

“No. I made sure of that.” That was all he said on the subject, and he led her towards the square.

As they approached the town's center what Harri thought to be a War Memorial shifted into a statue of two people holding a small child. Her feet moved faster, and soon she was pulling Tom along so that she could look at the monument.

Harri drew close, gazing up into her parent’s faces. She had never imagined that there would be a statue… How strange it was to see herself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on her forehead.

“Yes, Yes,” said Riddle, as he pulled Harri away. “A monument to my defeat and exile.”

“Those are my parents. They died for me,” she said, looking up hungrily into her mother’s kind face.

Riddle paused in his tugging and looked more closely up at the statue. “What is it like, Harriet?”

“What?” Harri said, not looking away.

“To have parents who died for you. I can’t say that I can relate. My mother died at the orphanage I was born in. My father… well, he died for me in a way. Not willingly of course.”

“It hurts,” Harri said, turning to look at Riddle. “It always hurts. You robbed me of childhood, of parents who would have shown me kindness, of sisters or brothers, of grandparents my children will never know. That is what you owe me, Tom Riddle.” She didn’t know where the words came from exactly, but she knew that they were true and she could feel magic thrumming in agreement.

He let go of her wrist and stepped back a step. “Ah, now that is something,” he hissed. “You’ve declared a debt. I acknowledge it, Harriet Potter.” The tightness in his voice loosened as he said this, then he went on, “But you have put yourself in my power first- your word to me must be fulfilled before my obligation to you begins.”

The held gazes for several long beats, the Harri turned and looked back at her parents. “Where to?” she asked softly.

“This way.” He led her down a dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harri could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They walked quickly and came to the house at the very end of the row.

A hedge had grown wild in the decade since Hagrid had taken Harri from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harri was sure, was where the curse had backfired. She stood, gazing up at the wreck of what must have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

Harri felt her knees go weak and she grasped onto the rusted gate. Her touch on the gate activated something. A sign rose out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeks, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

 

On this spot, on Samhain 1981,

Lily and James Potter lost their lives.

Their daughter, Harriet, remains the only witch

Ever to have survived the Killing Curse.

This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left

In its ruined state as a monument to the Potters

And as a reminder of the violence

That tore apart their family.

 

She sniffed.

“Good Lord, wait here Harriet. I don’t know what you’ll act like if you actually go inside,” said Tom in exasperation.

He hopped the gate and entered the house. Why would his wand still be here? Was that even possible? Surely the Ministry would have found it.

She shook her head and looked down at the sign. A monument. This was no monument in her eyes. She wished it wasn’t here. What good was a reminder of pain? What sympathy did it generate? It felt like a place for people to come and gawk, just like when they looked at her a living monument with a lightning bolt scar.

Maybe she was being unkind. Plenty of families had suffered during the war. Mrs. Weasley had lost her brothers, for example. Her family wasn’t the only one torn apart, and it was ungenerous of her to assume that wizards and witches wouldn’t want to come here and see where it ended for their own peace of mind.

Only it wasn’t over.

Here she was, on her way to help restore the Dark Lord. And for what purpose now? Ginny was alive. If she broke her word did that mean that Ginny would drop dead somehow?

Was she willing to risk it?

No. The answer came quickly. She had bargained for Ginny’s life, and wouldn’t risk it now that the apparent danger had passed. Her own magic, what did she care? She had lived without it for eleven years, she could go on without it again. The lives of others though… would there be some bargain she could strike with the Dark Lord so that it wouldn’t be war again? No more killings?

Tom came out of the house, two wands grasped in his hands. He had been right after all.

“How did you know it would be here?”

“I soaked my wand in a potion I developed soon after I graduated Hogwarts. None would be able to see my wand unless they expressly planned to return it to me. Once holding it they would be compelled to find me, no matter the cost.”

Harri eyed the wand uneasily. “Demiguise Hair, Scurvy Grass, Syrup of Hellebore, and Lethe River Water?” Harri guessed.

Riddle looked quite pleased, “and Doxy Eggs. That’s quite clever. Little Ginny mentioned that you were Snape’s would-be-apprentice.”  

“That potion you made is quite vile,” she said.

“It wouldn’t affect anyone unless they were able to pick it up,” he said dismissively. “Which means they’d want to find me anyways.”

“You aren't the whole Voldemort, why doesn’t it affect you?”

“All I am is Lord Voldemort,” he said simply. “I doubt it would do anything to you either, Harriet, if it makes you feel better.”

She grimaced.

He swung himself over the gate again. “Here,” said Riddle, holding out her wand.

“You’re trusting me with a wand?”

“You already swore on your magic that you would cooperate until I released you,” he replied with a shrug. “And we’re going to be around God knows how many Muggles. I’d rather you had something to defend yourself with.”

“Why are we going to be around Muggles?”

“We can’t exactly Porkey to Albania,” he said grumpily. “Those will be monitored. I suppose we could apparate, but I’d be using more of my new magical core than is wise.  So we’ll fly.”

“On a Muggle airplane?”

“Yes. Have they come along since my day?”

“I’ve never flown in one, but I think so, yes. We’ll have to go to Heathrow, in London. And we’ll need money and passports. And I don’t think Muggles will find it normal for two children to go flying on their own.”

“I pass for eighteen,” he said confidently.

“Well I don’t,” she replied testily.

“You can be my cousin, and we’re flying to meet family in Greece. I'll confund anyone who questions it.”

She supposed they could pass as cousins. They didn’t look at all like siblings. She had red hair and hazel eyes, and he had dark hair with dark eyes. Cousins didn’t ever look alike though; Dudley being blonde with blue-eyed.

“If you say so,” she shrugged. “Do you know where Heathrow is?”

“Not a clue. Is it where the London Airport used to be?”

“I’ve no idea. It’s off A4 I think.” He looked at her blankly.

“We should get a cab in London, then,” she offered. He nodded, well at least that word made sense to him. She wondered when Hackney had fallen out of the vernacular.

“But what about a passport or money?” she implored.

“We’re magic, Harriet. I think we can take care of it,” his smirk made her want to hit him, and she wondered if it would be breaking her Vow if she did.

* * *

The forests of Albania in May were stunningly beautiful. Harri never would have thought, most of what she knew about Albania came from Muggle Primary school discussions of the Balkan states since 1989. She had imagined poor old ladies that were humped from all the communist labor.

And maybe such women did exist, but Albania had never been a proper Soviet State. It was poor, and not exactly densely populated. The people there didn’t seem interested in drawing attention to themselves, much like Harri and Tom. Thus it was easy to slip into the treeline and be as forgotten as the wind.

When they made camp that first night Tom conjured two tents that were much nicer inside than they were outside. They had real beds and working (though antiquated) appliances. Most importantly they had bathrooms with flushing loos. Harri hadn’t fancied the idea of dealing with that particular issue, having never been ‘Muggle Camping’ before. Even her African adventure with Snape had involved hotels, inns, and occasionally a very grand tent that he kept tucked away in his magically expanded satchel.

Harri made herself useful and built a fire, wondering as she cast if it would alert anyone as to where she was. She glanced around speculatively after each spell she cast, and when Tom noticed he only said, “I doubt Albania is monitoring magic use closely. Britain is rather singular. They’ve had the Ministry cast observation wards on every corner of London. And when a Muggle-born presents they cast the wards all around their neighborhood.” Harri thought of the CCTV cameras that Uncle Vernon had praised London for installing, with plans to put 200 million pounds into the infrastructure over the next decade.

Muggle or Magical, they weren’t so different, were they?

* * *

“What did you do for fun growing up”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I lived in an orphanage during the War. There wasn’t fun.”

“Did you amuse yourself somehow?”

“I would occasionally instruct my fellow orphans on proper respect for their betters.” She didn’t want to know what that meant.

There was a lull as Harri stared into the fire. It had been four days in the woods. She tried to keep the date straight in her head. She had gone into the Chamber of the 29th of May. It was now June 5th.

Tom left her most of the time. During the day he would leave the camp and go off into the woods. Usually, he came back with something; a cauldron, some ingredients, tea, or food. Today he had come back empty-handed, and he looked worse for wear. He sat very quietly by the fire.

“What happened today?” she asked finally, unable to stand the silence. He looked forlorn.

“Are you willingly helping me, Harriet?” Tom asked.

“No,” she answered. The press of magic forced her tongue to keep speaking. “But I’m willing to do what you ask for the vow I made.”

“Hmm…” he stayed quiet after that for what must have been a quarter of an hour. Harri gave up talking to him and laid down in the clearing to look up at the stars. “What did you do as a child for fun, Harriet?” he asked suddenly.

“I didn’t have a fun childhood either,” she said softly. “I used to play the piano and guitar some. I don’t really anymore.”

“Why not?” he asked from his perch on the log she’d levitated into their camp on her second day there.

“I used to play because I was alone and unhappy.”

“And you aren’t anymore?” he asked, and it was mocking.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really been happy,” she said. “You keep messing it up for me. Whenever I think I’m close… you come in and ruin it all.”

“Then why did you stop playing?”

“I had other things to focus on. Life wasn’t about surviving until I was eighteen and escaping my relatives. It was about my friends, classes, Snape, potions. There were lots of things that I liked doing so I didn’t have to focus on…” Harri trailed off.

“On how unhappy you were,” he finished.

“That isn’t really right either,” she said. “I just wish… I wish that people didn’t sway so easily. Snape tells everything to Dumbledore. Dumbledore is- well I don’t really know, do I? It’s all calculation, isn’t it? My friends… well as soon as Draco Malfoy, the worst person EVER, tells Hermione I’m possessed- by YOU thanks a lot- she starts searching through all my things. Ron and Neville let Malfoy set a snake on me instead of just ASKING. It’s always the same, isn’t it? No matter how good I am, everyone is looking at me from a thousand different angles searching for my flaw.”

“You’ll always have me, Harri,” he said, and she felt his eyes on her. She kept looking up at the stars.

“No I won’t,” she answered at last and then got up to go to bed.

* * *

The forest was dark and Harri was tired. She hadn't been able to sleep well for weeks. The constant movement of camp, of Tom leaving for long stretches at a time, and the general disquiet of the forest had left her perpetually frightened.

Harri was certain that Tom had found Voldemort. For some reason, he never brought him up. Harri had expected to be dragged before the Dark Lord and used to miraculously bring him back to life. Instead, it had been bitter weeks alone in the dark forest. Tom could be gone days at a time, and when that happened every sound made her jump.

She liked it better when he stayed at camp. At least then there was someone to talk to. He was surprisingly chatty about his childhood at the orphanage and his time at Hogwarts. He didn’t make any more of those strange sexual advances, didn’t even try to touch her. Sometimes she would catch him looking at her for too long, and when she would catch his gaze it would feel like fire was licking her skin. But he didn’t touch her, which was a relief.

He was brewing a lot. He had five cauldrons going at once and had left specific instructions for how to stir them each day. He didn’t let Harri add any ingredients, which she was glad for. The magical compulsion would have made her help, and that felt far too close to actively assisting in the Dark Lord’s return for Harri’s comfort. Maybe Tom realized that and knew there was only so far he could push her before Harri would break her vow unintentionally.

She mulled over the date. June 19th. It had been three weeks since she had been stunned and taken down into the Chamber of Secrets. Three weeks since she’d last seen Snape. Was he alive? Was Ginny? They had been left down in the Chamber with Fawkes. Harri liked to think the Pheonix had flown them out, or at the very least gone to get Dumbledore. What if it had all closed up and they could escape? What if they were dead? Would everyone think that she was dead too? Rotting down in the Chamber or in the stomach of a Basilisk. Too morbid, she reminded herself. Think about something else.

What else was there to think about? She had already gone through every topic she could think of. She had made list after list of potions ingredients and their various uses. Listed out loud every potion she could think of my heart. Written out as much transfiguration theory as she could recall. She had even written out every Magi-Zoologist manual she could remember, trying to compile animals and their different characteristics from multiple perspectives; like an encyclopedia. She found several contradictions between Newt Scamander and Edwardus Lima on the subject of Sphynx.  She felt like Hermione but was really just stir-crazy.

Harri stood to add a log to the fire. Technically, she could cast magical flame that would burn all night, but with very little to do, Harri had started casting the severing charm to hack up trees. She burned the wood at night for lack of anything else to do, not to mention the burning wood smelled better and the smoke kept the bugs away.

There was a rustle in the treeline. Her head snapped up from the fire and she looked around. Harri's heart began to race with fear. Was it Tom come back? Had the spirit of Lord Voldemort come to kill her? Some sort of animal? She gripped her wand and tried to think of a spell to defend herself with. If some great bear rushed out at her though… would a severing charm do the trick?

A large black dog stepped out of the darkness.

She stifled a scream. Was it a Grimm? Those weren’t even real animals! The were omens of death that cracked up witches and wizards would go on about. No magizoologist had ever seen one. Had she cracked and gone mad in her loneliness? Was that what this was?

Then the dog began to change. It grew into the shape of a man. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.

Harri knew him.

He was much aged from the photos she had of him, but ten years with Dementors couldn’t be good for someone’s looks. It was Sirius Black. Had he come to rejoin the Dark Lord then? The man who had betrayed her parents and had claimed to have been their friend all along. She thought of Remus Lupin. She thought of poor Peter Pettigrew who had been blown apart.

“Go away,” she snapped at him. “He’s not here, so go. I don’t want to see you.”

Black didn’t move. He stared at her with those piercing eyes. His mouth was open slightly, as if in shock.

“Did you hear me? He’s not here! Leave.”

“Harriet,” Black said softly. She felt so angry she wanted to hit him. She raised her wand instead.

“I’ll curse you if you if you don’t get out.”

Before she could manage, Black drew his own wand and croaked, “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Harri’s wand flew out of her hand, and Black caught it. Then he took a step closer, his eyes fixed on Harri.

“You can’t kill me,” she spat at him. “Voldemort won’t like that. He needs me alive for this,” she gestured around at the cauldrons.

“I’m not here to kill you, Harriet,” Black said softly.

“Then you’re here to see _him_ , so leave. I don’t want to see you. I don’t ever want to see you.”

“I don’t blame you for that, Harriet. But I’m not here for the bloody Dark Lord either. I’m here for you. To help you escape.”

“No, you aren’t. It’s a trick.” Harri said, shaking her head. “Did he set this up? To see if I’d leave? Because I’m not. Ginny’s life for my cooperation. That was the agreement. I’m not breaking it and losing my magic just so Ginny can die.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Black said slowly. “But perhaps we should clear this part up first. I’m not a Death Eater.”

“Yes, you are. You killed my parents.” Black stared at her out of those sunken eyes.

“I don’t deny it,” he said. “But if you knew the whole story.”

“The whole story?” Harri repeated a furious pounding in her ears. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”

“That’s not true,” said Black. “Harriet… your parents-” his voice cracked, “Lily and James are dead because of me. But not in the way you think. I would NEVER give them up to Voldemort. NEVER. James was my brother- and you…” he looked at her with those haunted eyes. “You were all any of us had, Harriet. We loved you.”

“That makes no sense at all, you liar,” Harri spat. “You gave them up, everyone heard Pettigrew-”

Black cut her off, “That RAT,” he snarled. “That rat is the one who betrayed your parents, Harri. Not me. NEVER me.”

Harri looked at him hard. Something had always felt wrong in the tale she had heard about Sirius Black, loyal best friend, suddenly turning Dark. Like she had missed five chapters in a story.

“Tell me then. Give me back my wand and tell me. Because after all the stories I heard from Remus, it never made any sense.”

So he told her.

It wasn’t a long story, but it was tragic. It was the Count of Monte Cristo, only Peter Pettigrew had probably died that day, and with him any chance of Sirius being cleared.

“He could still be a rat somewhere,” Black told her, “I’ve no idea if he’s survived. I hope he’s rotting in hell for what he did, Harri. All those years living with Snape of all people. It must have been the worst kind of childhood.”

“Snape didn’t raise me.”

“The paper said that he’s your Guardian.”

“He is. But he isn’t the one who raised me. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle until I was eleven. But my magic was all wrong, and Snape noticed, and well… he got me to submit a bunch of memories to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and…”

“Those Muggles abused you,” Black said bluntly.

Harri took a deep breath before answering, “Yes.”

“I should kill them,” Black snarled. “Then at least I really would be a murderer.”

“No,” Harri gasped. “No. It isn’t what my parents would want. They wouldn’t you to become a killer- just for _them_.”

“We should go, Harri,” Black said, “but from what you first said, you can’t leave, can you?”

Harri shook her head. “I made a vow in the Chamber of Secrest on my magic that I would stay with Tom, that is the young Voldemort that opened the Chamber if he let Ginny Weasley live.”

Black shook his head. “I know it’s a lot to ask for you to give up your magic, Harriet, but it isn’t worth him coming back…”

“I know,” she said. “I’d give up my magic in a heartbeat if it meant he wouldn’t return. But I can’t let Ginny die.”

“It might not mean her death,” Black said slowly. “He didn’t cast _Captivus_ , did he?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard of that spell,” Harri said shaking her head.

“It’s not like an Unbreakable Vow or a Magical Oath. If you break the Unbreakable Vow, it’s you who suffers. Sometimes a wizard might decide it’s worth his life to break one. Captivus though… well, that uses someone else as collateral. It uses a third party as insurance. If you were to break a Captivus Vow, then Miss. Weasley would die if that was the term of the agreement.”

“How do I know if it was cast?” Harri asked.

“Her magic would be saturated into something, usually parchment so it can function as a contract.  Then the two making the bond would sign in blood.”

Harri thought of the diary and her slashed hand. She wasn’t sure if that was what had actually happened, but if she had to guess it was. The Diary had been saturated with Ginny’s magic. Tom Riddle didn’t have blood. It had been ink that had oozed out of his split lip.

“I think it’s that,” Harri said. “Captivus. I think that’s what he used when I agreed.”

Black nodded. “That does complicate things.”

Harri sat down on the forest floor. What she needed was for Riddle or Voldemort to release her from her vow before he used her. That… or she needed to be able to negotiate with him once he was back in power to prevent another war. If this was a game of Poker, her hand was looking like she should fold. What she needed was for Dumbledore or Snape to show up. Black was a welcome addition to Team Harri, but what could he really do?

Well… he could deliver a letter.

Tom Riddle returned the next night none the wiser of Harri's visitor.

* * *

Despite his friendly smile and lack of conversation on the matter, Tom Riddle was in the forest of Albania to resurrect the Dark Lord. He described himself as a fraction, a mere splinter of the whole, and as such he _wanted_ the larger soul portion to be the living piece.

“Wouldn’t you rather it was just you instead?” Harri had asked.

“I crave what is best for the whole,” he had answered with a shrug. “Don’t be fooled by my corporeal form. I’m still not _real_. It’s ink that flows through my veins. Stolen magic that powers my core. I am the soul of Lord Voldemort, but I’m not the First portion.”

“Are you willingly helping me, Harriet?” Tom had asked her weeks ago.

“No.” she had answered.

A week later he had asked, “Would you say that I’m forcing you to help?”

“I… yes? Why?” but he didn’t really need to answer her. Intent mattered with magic, and with potions most of all.  He was brewing like mad, and Harri could tell where this was going. It was intent that fed the magic of potions. A Muggle wouldn’t be able to brew them. Magical intent went into the simmering ingredients and they warped and changed accordingly.

“I’m going to take something from you,” he had told her. “Whether you view yourself as willing or not matters.”

Would she rather be willing? Would she rather it be forced? Harri didn’t have an answer.

On June 22nd Tom Riddle appeared back at camp with a strange bundle. He carried it gently, like a baby. It made a harsh hissing sound, and Harri backed away from the on instinct when they entered the clearing.

“What is that?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the strange bundle. Before Tom could answer her, her scar began to throb with pain. Her back was against a tree, and she slid down it into a crouch. The magic of the thing was like a tidal wave, and she was drowning in the pain it was causing her.

“Now now, Harriet, none of that,” said Riddle. He put his bundle in his tent and came back to her. “We thought that this would be an issue, and it appears we were right. Drink this,” and he unstoppered a vial.

“What is it?” she asked in a croak.

“A stabilization potion. The connection you have to the Dark Lord should have been stabilized years ago. You magic probably gets spent out trying to maintain it. Do you find it hard to cast spells still?”

Harri took the potion and gave it a sniff. She wouldn’t really be able to tell if it was a poison; poison could be scentless, sweet, or bitter. It made her feel better and like she had some modicum of control.

“I’m not here to kill you, Harriet,” Riddle snipped. “Drink up. It will help with the pain and it’s time for us to get going. Back to England.”  She downed the potion, and it did soothe the pain. She only had a faint headache by the time they had finished packing up their campsite.

Not one to pull the same trick twice, Riddle had them on buses and trains this time to get back to England. The horrid bundle that Tom carried was wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak. The train from Paris to London arrived promptly at eight in the morning on June 24th. Harri wasn’t stupid. She knew that they had returned to England on a day Dumbledore was sure to be out of the country. Would he come looking for her instead of fulfilling his rites as the Lord of Light?

She somehow doubted it. Even if, as Riddle claimed, the magic didn’t do anything, Dumbledore followed his role. He would be in Estonia today. Riddle cast a subtle notice-me-not charm on them once they were on the other side of the channel, cast _portus_ on his watch, and had Harri grasp it.

When their train pulled into the station there were two fewer passengers onboard.  

Instead, they appeared on a hill overlooking a village. The house before her was worn down. Some of the windows were boarded up, tiles were missing from the roof, and ivy had spread unchecked over its face. It had the look of a once very fine manor, but it was currently derelict and unoccupied.

“Where are we?” Harri asked Tom, still looking at the sad old mansion.

“Little Hangleton. This used to be the home of Tom Riddle.”

“This was an orphanage?”

“No. My father and grandparents lived here, once. They are very dead now.”

“Why are we here then?”

“For something my father left behind,” said Riddle. “We’re off to the graveyard Harriet. No more questions. Just sit once we get there and don’t interfere.”

Harri followed Riddle down the hill to a small old church where there was a dark overgrown graveyard and a large yew tree next to it. Once they entered through the gate, Riddle began to cast wards around the perimeter so that they wouldn’t be bothered. That was good, Harri supposed while finding a bench, some Muggle didn’t need to die just because they had wandered to the wrong place.

Once done with his wards, Riddle began used the cracked headstones to make something… after a few moments, it became a large stone cauldron. Bigger than any that even Snape had, she thought morosely. Big enough for a grown man to sit in.

Tom returned to his bag and pulled out one of the potions he had brewed. He poured it into the cauldron, and despite the small size of the flask it didn’t run out. It poured and poured until the entire stone cauldron was full. Next, he flicked his wand to start a fire, and the potion began to heat quickly.

Harri tried to remember which potion this was, but it was fairly clear even after brewing. That could be any number of brews. Was it the one that had used Dragonfly wings; used for rejuvenation. Or perhaps the potion that had utilized all that blood, but had still somehow come out clear at the end.

The surface of the potion began to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Tom tending to the fire. The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

Tom turned back to his bag and carefully lifted the horrid baby-like creature from Harri’s cloak. It raised its thin arms, put them around Riddle’s neck, and Tom lifted it. Even Tom looked revolted by the hairless and scaly-looking thing.

Tom lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harri head its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

 _Maybe it won’t work_ Harri thought hopefully. But she knew that Tom would be too good for that. He began to speak in a chant; “ _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!_ ”

The surface of a grave near the cauldron cracked. Harri watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Riddle’s command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

“Come here, Harriet,” Riddle called. Though she didn’t want to, she was compelled to move forward.

Riddle produced a silver dagger. “Hold out your hand over the fire,” he commanded. She wondered if he would take her whole hand? She wanted the vomit.

“ _Blood of the flame, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.”_

Riddle sliced her hand, and her blood dribbled in. The potion turned a burning red.

“Well Harriet, it’s been nice,” Tom said to her carefully.

“What?” she said, turning to him.

“No questions, Harri, remember,” he said with a twist of his lips.

Riddle climbed into the cauldron, the hot stone burning his hand as he touched it. He grimaced in pain, but his voice clear as he said, “ _Soul of my Soul, return to true strength with this sacrifice of self.”_

Harri wanted to say that Tom Riddle looked afraid as he plunged the knife into his chest. Perhaps it was only resignation instead of fear, but she wanted it to be fear. He deserved to afraid after everything he had put her through. Let him fear that it wouldn’t work. That he died for nothing. That the thing in the cauldron would drown.

Life drained from his face, and the memory of Tom Riddle dipped below the surface.  The liquid within the cauldron turned a blinding white. Harri stepped back.

Could she run now if Tom Riddle was dead? That was what the bond had agreed to, hadn’t it? She turned to leave the graveyard but felt the press of her magic telling her that her bond had not yet been fulfilled. If Tom Riddle wasn’t dead then…

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions. Then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead. Then… through the mist in front of her, she saw the dark outline of a man.

He was taller than Tom had been. More muscular too. A man full grown that had lost all trace of boyhood. The face was no longer the horrible snake-like visage that had gone into the cauldron. It was Tom’s face, or at least an older version of it. He was horribly handsome still, but it was worse somehow. More like a predator, which Harri hadn’t thought possible. They weren’t Tom’s eyes looking at her, no. The eyes were still the blood red of that creature.

“Hello, Harriet,” said the cold voice of Lord Voldemort.


	3. The Summer of Hermione Granger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let everyone know- this series shouldn't have any non-con and very limited dub-con. Wanted to get that out there, because with Voldemort back it seemed like people were concerned that it would jump to a rape scene.

Sometimes Hermione felt frozen in place.

How to describe the experience of being petrified? Her mind worked over the experience again and again, but there wasn’t a way to articulate it.

How did one describe being conscious, but not awake? Aware, but incapable of feeling the passage of time. She could remember every moment someone stood next to her speaking, but the moments she had been alone took on a blurred quality. It had felt like a constant stream of visitors; Madam Pomfrey, Harri, Ron, Neville… and Draco. Time had still had weight though, a horrifying continuum that she had to push aside for the sake of her own sanity.

It was over. She wasn’t frozen anymore. Hermione could talk, read, run, and slip into unconsciousness. Being vital again was like frigid air in her lungs; the sweetest and sharpest of breaths.

Hermione could still feel her muscles cramp. Still found herself sitting still even though she could now move, as if her body had to remember that she was alive again. She caught herself not blinking for hours, her eyes dry and red. Worst of all, when she closed her eyes all she could see was that same spot in the Hospital Wing. For seven months all she had seen was the same spot, with faces popping in and out of existence. She had counted every tile, knew every smudge, knew that the plain white paint color was closer to a brown beige than a yellow cream.

It had been helplessness that had defined her experience as a living statue. She wondered when her mind would push the experience away, or if she would always be left with it. If she would wake almost every night gasping for breath because she had dreamed that she was back there again, cramped, frozen, and alone on a hospital bed.

“I told you this would happen,” Draco had said on his first visit.

“I’m so sorry Hermione, this is all my fault,” Harri had sobbed.

“We’re going to stop this, Hermione,” Ron had declared. “I don’t bloody trust Malfoy further than I can throw him, but this thing isn’t going to keep using Harri.”

“This is too much like mum and dad,” Neville had whispered, looking down. He moved a frizzy curl off her face. Three of the hairs had been obstructing her vision. She was glad they were gone. “I’m sorry I don’t visit more, Hermione. I’m not good at this. You would think that I would be… I have so much practice.” Neville’s voice broke.

“I’m so alone,” was Harri’s chocked confession. “Everyone thinks I’m evil now. And maybe I am, Hermione because I wish you were awake. But you can’t wake up until the Basilisk is gone. It could kill you.”

“I can’t let them know it was my father, Granger. I can’t,” Draco had cried, a wet tear hitting her face. “He’s my father. He’ll go to Azkaban. Dumbledore will stop this. He’s got to. But… I know you won’t forgive me.”

Would she forgive him? If he had testified that it was his father that had given the book to her, submitted the memories and been done with it, Harri wouldn’t be gone.

That was conjecture, Hermione reminded herself. There was no way to prove that events would have unfolded differently. Harri had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets once it was clear that the petrified students were going to be woken up. The young Lord Voldemort would be worried about what the students had seen; a justified fear when Justin had immediately identified Ginny Weasley as his attacker.

It would be impossible to make an assumption about what would have happened if Draco had come forward. Would the diary have fled? Would it still have taken Harri as a prisoner? Would a Basilisk still be slithering around the school- not magically forced back into hibernation?

These were questions that were placed on the scales, metaphorically, when Hermione weighed how upset she was at Draco Malfoy.

There were so many unknowable variables that she couldn’t come to a conclusion on. Who was to say whether or not things would have gone differently had he stepped forward. She only had the tangible facts in front of her. Not what-ifs, but a clear timeline of events that could not be changed.

First, Harri was gone. The story had come out in pieces. No one had wanted to scare Hermione, thinking that she was coming out of months of unconsciousness instead of a lucid dream. Hermione had asked for her parents before she thought to ask about her friends. Her parents had been on her mind often while she was frozen in place. What she wouldn’t give for her mother’s warm hand against her cheek or her father’s soft voice reading to her with his steady cadence. Why had they not come?

That had been its own terrible truth. Her parents hadn’t been told.

It was a violation of their rights! It made her boil in anger. What kind of school didn’t tell parents that their child had been attacked? Apparently, this one. According to the Statue of Secrecy, Muggleborn parents were not told if their child was ill or in danger for fear that they would pull them home. The Ministry couldn’t have untrained witches and wizards running around. Or a child sick with Dragon Pox taken to Muggle London. So her parents, her University educated professional parents, had been left in the dark on their daughter’s well being. Simply because the Magical World thought they were too _simple_ to handle something so complex. Emma Granger was the smartest person Hermione knew. The very idea that her mother shouldn’t have input on her daughter’s medical well being was ridiculous.

Then the other shoe dropped. Ginny Weasley came into the Hospital Wing with Professor Snape supporting her drooping form. Hermione could see on his face that something was horribly wrong, but he didn’t stay to chat. He was off like a bat in the night, barely pausing to bark at Madame Pomfrey what was wrong with Ginny.

Ginny was asleep, but the Weasley Family arrived in short order. Apparently, _they_ had been informed that their daughter had been in danger. It was Ron, hugging Hermione tightly, that told her what had happened. Harri had been taken down into the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Snape had gone in after them. Ginny had come back, but no one had seen Harri yet.

Hermione tried to reason out the blanks. Harri wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be, because Professor Snape would have brought her body back. Hermione knew that it was a Basilisk down in the Chamber, and knew that the diary contained a memory of Tom Riddle, who was the Young Lord Voldemort. She knew because Harri had told her in a hushed and hurried whisper one day. It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but now the memories were coming into sharper focus. Her mind was working to analyze each interaction, to focus on and sharpen what had been blurry and disjointed.

Hermione was beginning to suspect that Harri had a secret. She had divulged in first year that her soulmate was horrible, worse than Malfoy allegedly. While that hadn’t seemed possible at the time, the question of Harri’s soulmate nagged at Hermione. It was an itch in her brain. Before she had found out that she was a witch, Hermione’s life had been well ordered. She had understood where everything fit together and could reason out the _hows_ and _whys_ of most situations. If life were a jigsaw, Hermione had most of it fitted together. Then Professor McGonagall had appeared with a magic letter, and the puzzle had fallen apart. Now, the disjointed pieces of the jigsaw Hermione was constantly trying to piece together often centered around Harri.

She was the Girl-Who-Lived; but why had Voldemort tried to kill her?  How had she survived? There was no answer, and the girl that should have been dead was her best friend. Harri’s magic was unbalanced and her core still wasn’t stabilized. From what she had read about abused children, that wasn’t normal. Dumbledore had invited Harri to Samhain, but the ritual was out of practice. Hermione had checked seventeen tomes on ‘wheel of the year’ ritual magic. Only very old families performed the rituals, and mostly for the sake of tradition, not for any real belief in the power. Dumbledore was often referred to as the ‘Lord of Light’ but Hermione could find scant information on what that even meant. He seemed well respected, and she could find lists of Lords and Lady’s of Magic dating back to Merlin. What that title entailed though, or how one came to possess it, was a mystery.

Hermione’s mind would often chew at a problem in the background, only to divulge the answer after a good nights sleep. Often when Hermione slept instead of dreaming she would solve problems or schedule her time for the next few weeks. Being petrified had given her brain a lot of time to chew on this mystery. She was close- and certain that they were all connected. Hermione could feel the strings of magic on these questions; an intuitive instinct she had possessed all her life.

The second clear fact was that Draco had not taken legal steps to prevent future attacks. While this was upsetting, it wasn’t surprising. So far, Draco acted how she expected him to. When he had pulled her into the broom closet she had been thrown for a loop. It was out of character. She had wanted to believe that this meant that Draco held her in some sort of esteem. Having him come and talk to her for months, Hermione had realized that it was more complicated and less flattering than that.

Draco Malfoy wouldn’t betray his family, but he would serve his own interest. That was why he had tried to warn Hermione. He was mad that his father had tried to take the ‘Mudblood Toy’ before he had decided if he wanted to play with it or not. Not something to be pleased about, but Hermione could now fit Draco Malfoy back into the puzzle of her life neatly. An antagonist, and not someone to be trusted. But… maybe someone who would look out for her if the cost wasn’t too high. There weren’t many witches or wizard who had Hermione’s, or any muggle-borns', best interest at heart. If Draco Malfoy was now in the ‘maybe a threat’ category, it was better than with the opposition.

The third clear fact was that the Basilisk was now dead and would never bother another Muggleborn again.

It had taken a full twenty-four hours for that part of the story to get to Hermione. She was released from the Hospital Wing within a few hours of being revived and taken back to the Common Room by a bleary Professor McGonagall. Hermione had tried to fish for information about Harri, but McGonagall was tight-lipped. The next day Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were gone, and a new Professor was seated at the High Table.  

A still exhausted looking Professor McGonagall had taken to the podium to announce, “It is with a heavy heart that we feel that we must inform you all what has occurred at this school over the last two days…”

Professor Snape had gone into the Chamber of Secrets to save Harriet Potter and Ginny Weasley. He had slain a Basilisk, but gotten injured. As he lay dying, Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix had cried on the wound, saving him. Before Professor Snape could fight to contain the Dark Object that had possessed Ginny Weasley he had been attacked by it. When he had awoken, it was to Ginny Weasley alive but Harri was gone. Professor Dumbledore and Snape were working in coordination with the Ministry to find Harri and rescue her from the ‘Heir of Slytherin’. They were certain that she was not dead.

Hermione couldn’t help but weigh the death of the Basilisk highly. When measuring out if Draco Malfoy had acted correctly, this was one of the heaviest weights. In other scenarios, the death of the Basilisk was not guaranteed. It was highly improbable that Severus Snape would be able to slay a Basilisk in any scenario, yet in this one he had. Never again would a student live in fear of dying at Hogwarts from a fantastic monster. Bigotry would be just that- plain bigotry not hidden under the veil of myth and legend.

Thus- when Hermione weighed the facts before her she found that she couldn’t wish for a different scenario. She could forgive Draco Malfoy for not reporting his father because the results of his actions were for the net good. Harri was missing, but a Basilisk was dead. It was a strictly utilitarian view, one that showed the best results that did the least amount of evil. If the facts changed, Hermione could always reassess just how she felt about Malfoy.

For now, she would settle for ignoring him and trying to catch up on seven months of school work. She had been promised a place at Hogwarts for the month of August to do her practical work, but for June and July Hermione would be on her own trying to learn everything that she had missed.

When she wasn’t doing school work she had a list of priorities.

First, look for anything that could help Harri. Or at the very least worry/pray for Harri. Hermione wouldn't’ call herself religious, but she agnostic. If there was a God, god, or higher power of some form, she wanted to cover that base as best she could. ‘Keep Harri safe,’ became her most muttered phrase that summer.

Second, talk to her parents and start researching their legal rights. Hermione knew that her mother would want to employ a Barrister to look into what their rights over Hermione were. This hadn’t been explained in Hermione’s Hogwarts letter, and in her opinion that was grossly neglectful. Were there magical Barristers? There must be. She added it to her growing ‘one-time task’ to do list.

Third, write to her friends. In a blink, Hermione was being taken away from Ron and Neville again. They had a whole year without her, had grown closer without her. Insecurity bubbled up inside of her. If Hermione didn’t write, who was to say they would still care about her? She would be annoying Hermione without Harri there, making everyone see the best sides of her. If Hermione brought out the more studious and thoughtful side of Harri, Harri brought out the more humane and kind side of Hermione. She had liked that about Harri, who had empathy pouring out of her like a wellspring. Sometimes Hermione felt off. She knew what right and wrong were, of course. But in her bombastic pursuit of truth and justice, people were often turned off. Hermione needed there to be a Harri, because without her she was a buck-toothed know-it-all who could be pushed away and ignored.

Failure had once been the worst fear of Hermione Granger. After seven months of being petrified in a Hospital bed, half awake and lonely, it was being ignored.

* * *

The school work was going better than Hermione had expected. Maybe Ron and Neville had a point when they said she was miles ahead of everyone else.

Hermione usually felt miles behind. Her compulsive need to check and double check everything she wrote came more from a fear of missing a small detail that would have been obvious to someone born in the magical world. Yes, she liked details, but the Hermione of the pre-Hogwarts letter went by a philosophy of ninety percent to manage her compulsive desire to be perfect. Her father had suggested it after she had spent an hour crying in her room after taking the entrance exam to a prestigious school.

“It wasn’t perfect,” eight-year-old Hermione had sobbed into her father’s shoulder. “Benenden will see I’m a fraud and they won’t let me in. I’ll never go to Oxford and I’ll never become a Barrister.” Never mind that Hermione had been specifically invited to apply. It wasn’t just that Hermione was competing for a place at Stowe, such a competitive venture that it was required to apply four years in advance, but she was competing for a scholarship. 30,000 pounds a year was more than two dentists could afford.

“ _How_ not perfect?” her father had asked.

“What?” Hermione sniffed. “If it’s not perfect, it doesn't matter.”

“No,” her father had said shaking head. “There are limits to these kinds of things, Hermione. You’ll never be perfect, but you can always try to get your tests and projects to an attainable level. Was it at least eighty percent perfect?”

Hermione had gasped in horror, “Eighty Percent! Of course it was!”

“Eight-five, then?” her father had asked.

“Yes,” she had nodded, feeling suddenly more assured in her work.

“What about ninety.”

Hermione paused. Yes. She wouldn’t be able to say that it was better than that, but it had to be at least ninety percent perfect.

She nodded, solemnly.

“Then ninety is your new goal, Hermione. You can work as hard as you want, but once you know it’s ninety percent you need to let it go. You can’t run yourself ragged, love.”

For the next three years, Hermione had lived by the philosophy. It had helped quite a lot with her compulsive need to be sure every detail was just so. She stopped crying over a half-remembered fact and was able to read for pleasure again.

Her parents were pleased, which in turn, pleased Hermione.

She even got into both Benenden and Stowe, and was due to start Benenden come fall, just before she turned twelve. Then Professor McGonagall had shown up on their doorstep in June of 1991, and Hermione’s life had changed.

Now she had no conception of what ninety percent was. In a world where everything from culture, early childhood education, to magic itself was alien, how would Hermione ever be able to tell what that standard of perfection was?

It was difficult to monitor her obsessive nature on school work, but she thought that she managing well enough. She had only gotten her parents to go into Diagon Alley twice that summer for supplemental books. It was only the third week of June, but honestly, no one was expecting a miracle from Hermione!

On June 22nd Hermione got a visitor.

She was going for her morning jog, something Neville has suggested that she do to clear her head when frustrated or overwhelmed, when a large black dog blocked her path with a letter in his mouth.

On first glance, the dog almost looked like the mythical Grimm, but it’s wagging tail dispelled the illusion of a death omen.

Now, Hermione had never heard of Dog Post before. Owl Post had taken some getting used to, but Dog Post was not real. So it was with great skepticism that Hermione took the letter from the mouth of the hound nudging into her leg.

It was addressed like a Muggle letter in a familiar messy scrawl.

Harri!

Hermione tore open the letter with a gasp and pulled out the parchment to read;

_Hermione,_

_I know that this letter should probably be going directly to Snape or Dumbledore, but I don’t know how well it would be received. I need you to be the one to help here, because you won’t shoot on site. The dog who delivered this letter to you is actually my Godfather, Sirius Black. He’s escaped from Azkaban, but he’s given me an explanation of his innocence that I believe. Please ask him for a more specific account in person, I don’t know how long I have to write this letter._

_I am currently in a magically binding agreement with Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, called the Captivus Agreement. I have agreed not to leave his side until he releases me; or I lose my magic and Ginny Weasley dies. I am currently in Albania, but I don’t think we’ll be here for too much longer. Tom seems like he’s preparing for something._

_Sirius can find me no matter where I am, so I need you to get Snape and Dumbledore to use him to locate me and come to some sort of agreement with Riddle to free me, hopefully before he raises Voldemort to power again._

_To help you, go to Remus Lupin with this letter and explain to him that Sirius is innocent. I think you and Remus going to Snape and Dumbledore to explain will ensure that Sirius doesn’t get kissed by a dementor on sight._

_You can plan better than I can, so if you can see any holes in this logic talk to Sirius and Remus to adapt._

_I miss you,_

_Harri_

Hermione looked at the dog that was looking at her speculatively. Sirius Black- she had heard that he escaped. It had even been on the muggle news.

Harri seemed convinced that he was innocent, but Hermione didn’t have a way to verify that. Who was to say that Harri wasn’t being forced to write the letter if she was being bound up by a vow.

Would he make a vow himself?

“I have no reason to trust you,” Hermione told the dog. “I’m going to need a guarantee of some kind that you aren’t lying. Or that you aren’t working for Voldemort. This could all be a lie.”

A man suddenly stood before her. He was gaunt with long black hair. He was ghoulish and didn’t look like an innocent man. Ten years in Azkaban, Hermione reminded herself. Ten years around Dementors would make anyone look horrifying.

“I have no problem making a vow that I’m not working for that bastard,” he spat.

His appearance was horrifying, but his voice was that of a young man.

“Swear on your magic that you’re trying to help Harri get free of her vow to the Dark Lord,” Hermione squeaked, mind whirring fast. Was the wording good enough? Did it leave room for a betrayal?

“I swear to you on my magic, Hermione Granger, that I am working to help Harriet Potter get free of her vow to the Dark Lord Voldemort,” he said firmly.

“Oh…” Hermione said lamely, as she felt a magical snap. “Well then,” she looked behind herself at her empty house. “Would you like to come in?”

“Do you have food?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

Hermione nodded mutely, stunned silent by the rush of information. Harri was indeed alive, but was her plan the best one? Could Sirius Black be trusted?

“Tell me how you are innocent of killing twelve muggles with a single curse?” she asked harshly, once they were seated at the table in her kitchen. He was wolfing down buttered bread with jam and tea.

Before he could even open his mouth, she went on, “I’ll have you know that I’m Muggleborn and that my parents are muggles. So if you think that I’ll stand for any kind of violence against them-”  

“I like The Who and The Kinks,” he said cutting her off. “Lily Potter took me to concerts and taught me how to drive. I have my motorcycle license with the UK. I ran away from home with I was fourteen because I couldn’t stand the trash my family was spouting. Couldn’t stand that they wanted to support a maniac who would kill people to gain a little power. No, I’m no Dark Lord supporter and I’ll thank you very much to stop implying it.”

“You can’t blame me for worrying about,” Hermione tried, furious. “You’re an escaped convict!’

Sirius Black did something very unexpected next. He didn’t try to tell her more about Muggle culture or explain why he was innocent. Instead, he showed her his wrist. It was covered with a dirty bandage, and he pulled it off with a yank.

The words were white, like a scar. They said, “You’re are right git, Black.”  Hermione looked up at him, surprised. No one, especially not pureblood wizards, ever showed their marks.

“Her name was Dorcas Meadows. She was Muggle-born, like you.”

“Weren’t you angry?” Hermione snapped harshly. “Didn’t you hate it, because mine-”

“Dorcas was amazing,” Black interjected. “The best flyer I ever met. She could have played for England! When my parents found out- and you better believe I didn’t let them know- they had her family killed. Tried to kill her too. That’s why I left when I was fourteen. She never forgave me. She died in 1981, fighting the good fight like the goddamned warrior she was.”

Hermione didn’t have much of anything to say to that. Black poured himself another cup of tea.

“Would you mind if I used your washroom?” he asked mildly, removing his wrist from the table and out of her sight.  

Hermione could only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Voldemort this chapter, but next time will be from his POV. Then I can return to Harri's head for a while. Wish me luck on getting Voldemort's tone right!


	4. The Dark Lord Voldemort

‘ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him_

_Born as the Seventh Month dies’_

Those were the words that Severus Snape brought him in the spring of 1991. The words had filled him with rage, a visceral hatred that marked most of Voldemort’s life. He knew how to hate better than anyone, and he hated whoever this child was. There would be no chance for him to grow into his power. Oh no, Lord Voldemort would see to that.

That July, two children were born.

One, Neville Longbottom. Pureblood. Born to Alice and Frank Longbottom on July 30th.

He had thought, this is the one. This is the child that is to be your downfall. It would not do, so he set Bellatrix to finding the Longbottoms. Dumbledore would hide them, but that wouldn’t stop his Death Eaters. Oh no, if he declared that it was time for the Longbottoms to die, they would die.

The next day he received word from Peter Pettigrew that another child had been born.

One, Harriet Dorea Potter. Half-Blood. Born to Lily and James Potter on July 31st. Named for her great-grandfather, Henry Potter, and her great-great-aunt Dorea Black if he wasn't mistaken. 

There was no question of Longbottom or Potter, only the knowledge that she was the child. He hadn’t expected a girl child, but he could feel in his bones that it was _her_ , not the Longbottom brat. He made his plans and bided his time. Pettigrew gave them up the following year. It had taken calm pressure; the slow application of threats and promises of glory to break the rat.

He broke, and Voldemort had the location of the Potter girl. It was best to snip the bud before it came into bloom, he had thought calmly, walking into Godric’s Hollow.

James Potter was unarmed and easily defeated. He followed the woman, Lily Potter, up the stairs into her child’s nursery. She, too, was unarmed. Voldemort had never been one for fair play and preferred an enemy who couldn’t fight back.

The pleading mother was dispatched quickly. Severus had asked for her to be spared, but Lily Potter was too much trouble alive. Which only left the girl.

He paused and studied her. Red hair and hazel eyes. Standing in her crib screaming for her mother. And this? This was the girl who foretold his downfall?

Pathetic.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

Then there was pain. The pain of being ripped out of his body. The pain of his soul being ripped. The pain of death.

When it was over he was above his body, looking down. He watched as it began to disintegrate into ash. That meant that his existence was no longer of the corporeal... he was a wraith now. His Horcruxes had worked, but he had assumed that he would be given new life from one. A new body. Not this. He felt weak. Would it be possible to get to safety before Dumbledore appeared? The bloody second floor had been blown up, it wouldn’t be long until he appeared.

At least the girl was dead, he thought.

Except… she wasn’t. The little girl was crying in her crib, still very much alive. Her forehead was bloody, and he could just make out a lightning bolt scar.

There wasn’t time to ponder. To poke or prod. He needed to leave. Voldemort had an organized mind and purposefully committed this scene to memory. He would go over it with a fine-toothed comb.

Later.

Until then, the girl would cry. There was nothing he could to do to stop her at the moment.

 _Next time, Harriet Potter,_ he thought, a mean ghost on the wind. _I’ll kill you next time._

* * *

Through the mist, he could finally make her out with his own eyes again; his first sight in a body of his own. It was fitting, considering she had been his last sight too.

“Hello, Harriet,” he said calmly. Feeling for all his calmness like a wolf circling a deer. He stepped out of the cauldron, located his wand, and conjured robes. The feeling of his magic was euphoric. Having a body again filled him with a pleasant tingling sensation.  His last body had been riddled with dark magic, not a worthy vessel for him anymore. This new body was perfect. It felt strong and ready, where his last body had felt brittle. He had known that a transfer would have to occur eventually, and this new form would last at least fifty years.

Harriet stood, watching him silently. He wouldn’t call it fear or bravery on her face, but a sort of half-hearted resignation. Her word still bound her to him, and no doubt she had hoped that with the Horcrux’s ‘death’ she would be free. The Horcrux had done more than its fair share. It had secured the girl through magic, brought her to him, and then sacrificed itself to bring him back. All that remained would be to secure Harriet Potter’s soul…

It was too soon for that, he realized. She was not yet thirteen and still far too young.

She was knob-kneed and coltish. Red hair pulled back messily. Clothes that were starting to show how often magic had been used to clean them instead of soap and water. She was bedraggled and exhausted looking.

Harriet Potter was more now than just a girl of prophecy. She was ‘ _Liar’_ and the future Lady of Light. Most importantly, she was his Horcrux. A gentle approach would be best, he thought. Nothing Dark to make her uneasy. She was a doe looking to startle, and the wolf would get far better results if she walked up to him instead of pursuing a long chase.

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord,_ indeed. His very soul was contained in that too small girl. One wrong move or miscast spell, and she would be dead. The same cold and clammy fear that he had finally _conquered_ at sixteen came slithering back. His own immortality was wrapped up in her now. The Diary’s Horcrux had fused back to his soul. Now that he had a soul that was fused, it couldn’t be ripped apart again. All he had left was the cup, locket, ring, diadem, and little Harriet Potter. His soul was in six parts, not an auspicious number. The knowledge that there could be no more was irritating. Seven parts would have been better.

Harriet Potter’s mortality was his weakness now, and it couldn’t be allowed. _Too young_ , he thought. The time was not ripe. Innocense was a flower to be plucked in full bloom, and this little thing was still a bud.

What did one do with a thirteen-year-old girl? There was no use for her now. Was he to keep her cooped up at the Riddle House? No. That would do him no good either. The bud would never burst into bloom if she was kept captive. So what he needed was a bargain. One that would give him what he wanted while costing him nothing at all…. It was worth meditation.

“Come,” he said, extending his hand.

“Where are we going?” the girl asked, stepping back instead of forward. Not reaching for him. Her voice barely shook, he noted.

Voldemort looked up at the Manor. It was close, and be all rights it was his. But, he didn’t want anything to do with Tom Riddle. The man was dead, dead from his own hand. His bone had been used to revive his son, but that was the end of it. He had no desire to step foot in that Muggle’s house.

“London,” he said. “A hotel for now.”

“The Leaky Cauldron?” she asked hopefully. He nearly laughed.

“No. Not that worn down pub. A Muggle establishment, I should think.”

Her hopeful gaze died. “I thought you hated Muggles. Why would you want to be around them? Shouldn’t we be going to Malfoy Manor or something?”

“Lucius was helpful, despite himself,” Voldemort mused. The man had used his Horcrux to get even with a Mudblood though, not with any intention of resurrecting his Lord. The Horcrux had promised vengeance against Dumbledore and against the Mudblood, so Lucius had set his trap. “But no, my followers are not to know of my return just yet. These things should be done delicately. Without you near.”

He thought of madness and rage some of them must harbor against this girl. What if they cast without his say so? Bella came to mind. What if Harriet was killed? It wouldn’t do for her to be near his followers. Not until he had given the strictest of orders. Put fear and awe in their hearts once again.

Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to the side. “Shouldn’t you want to show them all that I’m in your power?”

“That would be the plan of a madman, Harriet. You are my Twin Flame.”

Her jaw clenched. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

“No more questions,” he said. “Later. But for now, Claridge’s I should think.”

She gaped, but finally extended her hand to him and stepped forward. Her touch felt like a flame licking up his arm. Their twin magic was intoxicating. He had a flash of memory; her lips pressed to his in the Chamber. Cornering her by the Litha fire. Taking, and Harriet only able to give. They were memories of a sixteen-year-old boy and had no bearing on now. _Too young_ , he reminded himself. _Too soon._

He apparated them with a soft pop.

They appeared in Grosvenor Square in one of the heavily foliaged corners. Once he had known the streets of London and could have picked out a silent back alley. That was many years ago. London had changed. Between the blitz and time, Voldemort felt like a stranger in his homeland. London was no longer the place of his childhood.  

From a very young age, he had wandered, always silent and invisible to those who would wish him harm. Even the posh sections had been his to explore, no one paying the battered orphan any mind. At the time he had thought he alone could perform such feats. That eventually he would be able to use his power to open the doors to luxury and influence. He had, but not in the way the young Tom had thought. There were rules to magic that Tom Riddle had not known, but he was wise to the game now. He had money and power, thus the Muggles respected him even if they didn’t know _why_. Just so, he pulled his magic around them to be sure they were not noticed by the Muggles. Tourists mostly. Rules were rules, and he would keep to them for now.

She could make herself invisible without him, he knew. Her magic was boundless and riotous. How like Dumbledore to ensure that Harriet would be his match. Had the Prophecy made clear that she was his Twin Flame? The old man had played her like a pawn on the Chessboard. Like he had tried to play Voldemort all those years ago at Hogwarts.

Well, for whatever he thought about Severus Snape now (The memory of him declaring that he had no master made his blood boil. He would show him. That man’s magic was as dark as any, and _his_ to Lord over), at least the man had kept his Horcrux safe. A service to the Dark in the end.

The grip from Harriet’s hand tightened. “They’ll see us,” she hissed.

“Not at all, can’t you feel my magic, Harriet?”

He looked down at her, and she breathed deeply as if having to meditate to sense what should be second nature to her. What a disservice the Hogwarts education was. She, who had magic pouring out of her like a fountain, should be able to sense and stretch her magic on a whim.

Well, there was his Horcrux to contend with. She had spent twelve years without the stabilization potion. Control should come now that the two halves were merging

“Something different to wear, I should think,” he said whipping his wand in a quick motion. Fabric swirled around her, coming into form as a dark blue dress appropriate for a young girl. The neckline was modest and had a collar like a men’s shirt. Pea-sized peal buttons went down the front, and it was cinched at the waist by a thin belt. Her shoes were off, and he remedied that with cream flats. It was reminiscent of the dresses the pureblood girls had worn under their robes when he had been a student at Hogwarts. No doubt it was out of style.

Harriet gave the dress a look, and he could tell she was surprised. Her free hand ghosted over the buttons. He privately hoped that men’s fashion hasn’t changed much since the early 1980s, and formed for himself a summer suit.  

With no mirror to check his appearance, he had to trust that his look was one that was palatable to the muggle sect. He hadn’t been able to roam around London without a glamour since the early 1970s. The eyes would still be red, so he cast a glamour to make them look their original dark brown.

He dropped the concealment and stepped out into the sunlight heading towards Brook St. Harriet dragged behind him.

“You won’t hurt anyone, will you,” she whispered, looking around at the tourists.

“My word to you, Harriet. I have no intention of hurting anyone today,” he said impatiently, giving her a tug. She stumbled slightly but began to move at least.

An explosion was coming. He could feel it in the way her agitated magic danced around him. Best to get them in private so that she could ask her questions. Once she was settled… then he could focus on his new body. His plans. His followers. Then he could be the Dark Lord Voldemort. Not now though, now he needed to be a calm and trusting face. No sharp edges that would give her cause to be difficult. If he was all honey, there could be no complaint.

* * *

He dragged her forward to Brook St and up a block. They came to the brick face of Claridge’s, with the iconic flags fluttering out front of the lobby. If Aunt Petunia could see her now, she wanted to laugh manically. This could only be described as shock because she most certainly wasn’t walking hand in hand with her parent’s killer to stay in a luxury hotel in London.

The doorman nodded at them as they walked into the lobby, and she wanted to scream at him. It was the Dark Lord. Run. Get away. Her magic pressed her mouth shut. _Do not break your vow, Harri_ , she reminded herself. _Ginny. Ginny. Ginny. Don’t make a fuss._

The lobby had black and white marble flooring. It was all heavy wood furniture with light colored walls. Silk curtains. Gilded furnishing and fixtures. Artful, and not at all overdone even as it skirted gaudy.

Posh.

Harri wasn’t posh at all. She did not belong here. The dress she was wearing was the softer than a dream, even softer than the nice clothing she had bought at Madame Malkin’s. Those had been the clothes of a middle-class girl going to school, not of the Young Miss she was apparently pretending to be.

Riddle had told her that conjured money would be tracked down by the Ministry. If Voldemort used it here it wouldn’t be long until someone found them, right? A rescue was coming, even if Sirius failed to convince Remus, Dumbledore, and Snape to trust him.

Voldemort walked casually up to the concierge desk, and in the poshest accent she had ever heard said, “Marvolo Peverell, you’ll find my account on file.”

If the concierge thought anything odd about the name, he didn’t show it. Just typed the name into some sort of fancy computer. Then… he did pause. He looked up sharply at Voldemort.

“Your Grace,” he said, sounding in awe. What?

“Indeed. Now I would like the Eugenie Suite for the foreseeable future.”

The concierge stumbled. “I’m afraid that the Eugenie Suite is booked sporadically for the next few-”

“Then move them,” Voldemort said simply.

The concierge looked around desperately, no doubt for management. But then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gathered his composure. “Of course, Your Grace. And your companion’s name for the file?” he asked.

“Lady Harriet Peverell,” he replied. Lady? Ha. “Baroness Holland,” he continued.

What?

“Excellent,” said the concierge. “Is your account information up to date? I see it’s been near a decade.” the concierge asked. Payment method- that was what he was talking about.

“Yes, the same bank,” said Voldemort. Seeming quite offended to be speaking of something as gauche as money. So there would be no conjured payment. This was a hiding hole that Voldemort used often. And apparently, he could make up peerages and get away with it.

“Andrews,” said the concierge to a footman standing-by. “Take His Grace and Her Ladyship up the Eugenie Suite.”

They were escorted to an elevator, operated by staff, and taken up to the second highest floor. They were shown to a set of filigree covered double doors and into a living area. Voldemort even tipped the footman before he left, the doors closing with barely a click.

She looked around dubiously. There was a settee and a plush armchair.  A table set for four. A balcony was visible from the silken drapes. Off the small entrance hall was a door, presumably to a bedroom or bathroom. And once inside the living room, she could see another two doors. One was open, showing an extravagant bedroom. Voldemort already had his wand out, slowly walking the perimeter of the room muttering as he went.

She could feel his magic building around her. Building up into wards, she realized. He disappeared into each room, and Harri stood, feeling the growing strength of the magical walls. They didn’t feel like they were meant to contain her, which was a surprise. What was their purpose then? If he was worried about the Ministry tracking their magic, wouldn’t they already have a read on him? He had conjured their clothes.

She could tell he was finished even though she couldn’t see him. It was like the last brick settling into place. The pressure around the room lessened, feeling very balanced. He walked back into the room, looking strangely dapper and almost Muggle in his suit. The type of man Uncle Vernon would have been very impressed by. 

Well… this was better than camping in Albania, she thought. Though it was also worse. Tom had felt knowable. While he hadn’t made any more advances on her, he had seemed to care in his own strange way. With Voldemort though, she could tell he was lying with every calm gesture and fake smile. A veneer if she had ever seen one. She would think he was lying no matter what, but his very magic broadcasted that it was all fake.

She was tired of the false airs of civility. If she was to be trapped with a Dark Lord she didn’t want the soft hand or the genial smiles. No beautiful dresses or the pretense of kindness. It made her so angry.

“You can drop the facade,” she spat. “I know that you’re pretending.”

The genial smile on his face didn’t falter at all. “Whatever do you mean, Harriet?”

“I _know_ what you really are,” she bit out. “I remember what you were like on the back of Quirrell's head. How you wanted to _use_ me. Don’t go pretending. I know what you're like. I can feel that it’s all lies.”  

“And would you prefer that, Harriet?” he asked darkly. His face was still all soft kindness, but his voice suddenly had a much more dangerous quality. She could feel his magic lazily lick across her back.

“I should think that a nice bed and shower would be welcome. Would you prefer that I lock you in a dungeon? Torture you for information? Use and use you until there isn’t a single thing left to take?” The cool magic stung her with each word, sharp snaps that almost made her yelp.

Harri glared up at him defiantly. “I want you to let me go. I’ve done my part. Fulfilled my word. Now release me.”

“I think not,” he said, sitting elegantly in the armchair. “Why would I give you up? I have you in my power, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason for that to change.”

“But you owe me,” she argued.

A slow smile spread across his face. “And is that what you want for my debt, Harriet? Freedom from the _Captivus Curse_?” A bad bargain she was sure. He wouldn’t offer it if it wasn’t something he was willing to give up.

When the memory of Tom Riddle had admitted that he owed her a debt, she hadn’t thought too much of it. Now though, she wondered how much that debt was worth. She would be bargaining blind.

“No,” she said softly, sitting on the settee as elegantly as possible. It would be poor bargaining to ask what he was willing to give. She needed to decide what she wanted from him. 

“Why did the concierge call you Your Grace?” she decided to ask. She needed time to think.

“Because I’m the Duke of Albany.”

“No you’re not,” Harri snorted. “That would mean the Queen gave _you_ a peerage.”

“Which she did upon my ascension as the Dark Lord.”

“You have actual British Rank?” Harri asked in disbelief.

“Yes, you’ll find that most pureblood families do. Lucius Malfoy is the Marquess of Hastings. And Dumbledore is the Duke of Clarence. That will be yours when you come into your own. For now, you’ll just have to make do being the Baroness Holland.”

“I’m not a Baroness. I would know if I were a Baroness”

“The Potter’s have held the Barony of Holland since Hardwin Potter; who obtained it with his marriage to Lady Iolanthe Peverell.”

“How on Earth do you know that?” she asked in disbelief. “Wait. You called yourself Marvolo Pervell, and me Harriet Peverell. You didn’t just make up my name?”  

“I made it my business to know my entire family tree, Harriet. You and I are both descended from the Peverell family. Cursed with daughters, so the name eventually died out. I adopted the name when I first gained my peerage. The Barony has been kept in the name Peverell since Iolanthe, as it was originally her family seat.”

“We’re related?” Harri asked, slightly disgusted if she was being honest. Had she kissed a cousin?

“I believe we are sixth cousins, three times removed. Not what I would call family,” he said with a snort. “You’re more closely related to the Longbottoms than to me. Your grandmother was Euphemia Longbottom. ”

“Did you memorize an entire family tree or something?” Harri asked, aghast.

“I looked at it, so I remember it. It’s not difficult, Harriet.”

“You have a photographic memory,” Harri realized.

“Is that what the muggles call it now?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious. “They just thought I was possessed in the ’30s.”

They fell silent. Harri stared out the window into the bright daylight. She wanted a shower. She wanted to sleep. Most of all, she wanted to go home. She missed her little room in Snape’s quarters. She missed Gulliver. She missed Hermione, Neville, and Ron.

“I want your word that you won’t start a war. Or terrorist activities,” she said at last. “That’s what I want for your debt.”

He steadied his gaze on her. “That’s quite the limitation, Harriet. And not one I am at liberty to negotiate with you just yet. Armistice negotiations are for the Lord of Light alone.”

“Then negotiate with him,” Harri snapped. “I don’t want a war. I don’t want my friends killed just because they’re Muggleborn.”

“Is that what they teach now? Hogwarts really does just spout Ministry propaganda.”

“I don’t care,” Harri snapped, and the vase on the mantle shook. “I don’t care what stupid ideas you think you’re fighting for. No more death. That’s what I want. No more killings of innocent people.”

“Many wars are fought for ideas, Harriet. Mine was fought for power. When I had it, that was when ideas would be implemented.”

“My parents died by your wand. You tried to kill me. Neville’s parents were tortured into insanity by your followers. Do you hear yourself?”

“When you’re older, maybe you’ll understand. The end of corruption and change don’t come bloodlessly. Radical change needs system overhauls-”

“I’m going to bed,” she said standing up and cutting him off. He gripped his wand, and she wondered if he would curse her. That would be satisfying. Then all the facade of civility could be over. It could be a prisoner and her captor. She wanted to rage and destroy everything. To use every ounce of magic she had to punish him. However, it would be making a fuss. Ginny's life was held in the balance of her anger. 

“I’ll have food sent up in a few hours,” his eyes were narrowed, and she could see the hint of anger in them. “Learn some manners while you rest, we will speak later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out next chapter will actually be a study in Hermione, Sirius, Remus, and Snape. So nevermind about getting to stay with Harri's POV. I hope that this chapter felt true to form for Voldemort. I was trying to hint at darkness instead of fully going in. Tom Riddle was always known for trying to manipulate and put on a good face to get what he wants. For the darker side, look forward to Snape and Voldemort next chapter.


	5. Padfoot, Moony, and Grangers.

Dan and Emma Granger had been proud to find out their daughter was a witch. It was unexpected to be sure, but Hermione had always seemed special. Profess Minerva McGonagall had only confirmed what they already knew.

Hermione wrote often about her friends- Harri, Ron, and Neville. It had been refreshing- and frankly a relief- to see that their daughter was finally making friends. It confirmed that they had made the right decision to send Hermione into the Wizarding World instead of a Stowe.

Then had come the letter about a Troll. About two boys rescuing them, and nary a word from the school that their daughter had been in danger at all. That had raised an eyebrow, but perhaps these things happened at magic school. The danger couldn’t have been too real if the school didn’t contact them.

Hermione had come home for Christmas with seven heavy books. She had convinced them that her Christmas gift needed to be even _more_ books from Diagon Alley so that she could search for information. That had been difficult to suss out from Hermione, who had finally divulged that there was a Cerberus in the school. And something dark that it was guarding. Hermione, looking more distraught than they had ever seen her, had explained that she _needed_ to find out what the dog was guarding for Harri. Harri was in danger. Her Potions Professor might be trying to kill her.

That garnered more than a raised eyebrow. Dan and Emma had their daughter lead them back to Diagon Alley under the guise of books, and while Dan distracted her in the bookstore, Emma slipped away to the bank to inquire about a solicitor.

Nervous, Emma had walked through the sets of doors into the lobby of the large bank. A bank probably wasn’t the best place to start, she had thought, but there wasn’t anywhere else they could go. They had paid close attention to the signs in front of each establishment, and none mentioned a law practice. Dan had covertly purchased several books on legislation, under the guise that Hermione might be interested in them later, but they weren’t useful in explaining their own paternal rights. There was a Ministry of Magic, but for the life of them they couldn’t figure out how to find it. It was only with Hermione’s help, taking them by the hand to guide them, that they were able to go to Diagon Alley at all.

Emma approached the Goblin at the currency exchange desk, if only because they had to be the most familiar with Muggles, and asked, “Excuse me, but would it be possible to speak to a public relations liaison?”

The Goblin had smiled, a sharp toothy grin, and had replied, “All Goblins at this bank are qualified to act as a public face.”

“Well then,” Emma had replied, wringing her hands nervously, “I have quite a few questions about Muggle legal rights according to the Ministry. As I understand it from “Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard-Part-Humans,” Goblins must have some form of legal counsel. Would it be possible to speak to one such representative? Or to receive a recommendation of someone to meet with. I would gladly compensate you for your time.”

The Goblin evaluated her with steely eyes. It was a mean looking creature, but Emma met his eyes without flinching. She had read about Goblins from one of Hermione’s history books. Her daughter had bought so many that there had to be forty books stored in her bedroom while she was at school. Emma didn’t blame her for the excess, she had her husband had been consuming as much information as they could. There had been no further explanations from the school; just silence. If they were ever going to understand this secret world they needed to know their rights first and foremost. They had read about memory modifying charms, muggle baiting, and a war that was only a decade removed. It didn’t seem like a safe place for their too bright daughter.

Goblins had different views of morality than humans did. They believed in bargains, in keeping to your word, and compensation for work, time, and information. That in mind, she slid a 20-pound note across the counter.

“Not here,” the goblin sneered. “Our representatives are for Goblin Law alone.” Emma almost opened her mouth to argue but held her tongue.  Goblins, apparently, often tried to offend so they wouldn’t have to work with humans. If a human acted rudely to a Goblin, that was the end of the transaction.

The Goblin raised a scaly brow. “But,” he said at last, “I suppose you could contact Amelia Bones. She is known to be fair in cases involving Muggles.”

That seeming to be that, Emma slid another twenty-pound note across the counter and turned to leave the bank.

...

Emma and Dan Granger purchased an owl, partially so they could write their daughter and partially so they could get in contact with Amelia Bones. What had followed was an illuminating correspondence on what rights the Grangers had over their daughter in the eyes of wizarding law: None.

Hermione came home that summer with a story she didn’t want to share. It took several cups of tea and gentle prying for Hermione to finally break down. She looked down at her hands while describing a series of events that were beyond the pale.

A trip to a forest where unicorns were being killed for their blood. A three-headed dog that was guarding something. Four children putting themselves at risk because the adults had decided to use platitudes instead of explanations.

“We found out that it would have been safe the whole time,” Hermione had whispered. “It turns out the mirror to guard the stone would only give it to someone if they didn’t want to use it. But no one told us…” she trailed off. “It felt like the adults were just ignoring us. We had proof that someone was going to go after it, but no one listened to us. No one explained anything.”

So their daughter, their fearless wild-haired girl, had put a Cerebrus to sleep like Orpheus, and challenged the forces of evil. There had been a deadly plant, a killer chess board, and poison to contend with along with a Dark Lord. Their Hermione had stood by her friends. She had watched one get knocked out, and one walk through fire to her certain death.

They quietly wrote to Amelia Bones, and the school didn’t say a thing.

They sent Hermione off for her second year with forced smiles and clenched fists. A part of Emma felt like they were sending their daughter to her death. She had a feeling, deep in her bones that couldn’t be explained, that something very bad was going to happen.

She felt powerless. Amelia Bones had been frank about what happened to Muggles who tried to keep their children home. They were obliviated of their concerns. After the third obliviation- if the Muggle’s persisted in being a problem- the child would be taken away. “ _Mind you, this isn’t because the magic wouldn’t work and the Squad couldn’t continue to alter Muggle minds. It’s simply after a certain amount of mind magic one’s personality and ability to function starts to falter. It is believed that after enough mind magic the Muggle parent would be a danger to their child and the safer option is to remove them completely.”_

Every week she waited for word from Hermione. For the first few months, everything seemed fine. Then Hermione stopped responding. Their letters came back unopened. They wrote to the school, only to receive a platitude about Hermione being a bit ill in the hospital wing. “ _She’ll be put to rights soon,”_ came the looping words of Albus Dumbledore.

Emma simmered.

She wrote to Amelia Bones and asked for a meeting. There wasn’t much to be done, but Amelia Bones wrote to her niece, Susan, and found out that Hermione had been in the Hospital Wing for the last several months. There was something at the school attacking Muggleborns, according to Susan. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened.

Amelia Bones had assured them that she would find out more, and requested that Hermione be sent to St. Mungos where the Grangers could have access to her.

“I don’t want her at that school,” Dan had insisted to Bones when Amelia had met with them to show the denied request St. Mungos had received from Hogwarts. _“On the grounds of patient stability, the lack of immediate danger to the patient at Hogwarts, and the imminent cure that will be available at Hogwarts before St. Mungos.”_

Amelia pursed her lips, “I don’t blame you, but at the moment the law isn’t in your favor. I’m hoping to be up for the head position once Knott retires next year. I promise you both that I will be pushing reforms to help your position. It will be slow moving. The Old Gaurd doesn’t trust Muggles.”

"How does it work then?" Emma asked. "Is your government different than our version?" 

“The Departments propose legislature, but the Wizengamoat has to vote them into law. The Chief Warlock or the Minister has to call a vote. Dumbledore won’t be hard to worth with I don’t think…” Amelia Bones trailed off. “But, and here is the hard part, Legislation has to pass at a two-thirds majority. The Wizengamot has twenty-five Legacy Seats and twenty-five Elected Seats.”

“And let me guess,” Dan said, “The Legacy Seats are for old Pureblood families who will not vote in favor of Muggle Reforms.”  

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Amelia. "My family, not the Bones but the Olivanders, have a Legacy Seat. So do the Prewetts, the Longbottoms, the Abbotts. Kingsley Shacklebolt is the good sort. Arthur Weasley has a seat, but it’s been tied up since that feud the Blacks started when old Septimus Weasley married Cedrella Black. And three of the legacy seat holders are in Azkaban. Lestrange, Travers, and Black.  With Dumbledore, there would be enough of us to stand up to Old Gaurd. It’s just the elected seats are all rather cooked. A lot of money gets spent to ensure those seats stay with folks of the ‘right’ frame of mind.”

“Election fraud?” Emma asked, unsurprised at this point.

“Nothing that can be proved by the Auror Department,” said Amelia with a grimace. “If Fudge would just stand up to Malfoy… but he won’t. He’s too deep in Malfoy’s pocket.”

Dan and Emma Granger didn’t trust that anything would be done, despite Amelia Bone’s best effort. The fact of the matter was that they needed influence and power in the Ministry if they had any hope of pushing for real reform. They were Muggles. They were vulnerable. Their daughter being removed from their custody -their very minds!- was the threat hanging over their heads.

The Grangers had been proud to have a witch for a daughter. Proud, but they feared for her now. Holding her in their arms again at King’s Cross, safe and alive, had been more than they could have hoped for.

But what fresh hell awaited her next school term?

* * *

Sirius could hear voices talking on the lower level of the house. The girl’s, Hermione’s, parents must be home.

He was itching with the need for action but was holding himself back. It wouldn’t do to scare her parents. Sirius could very well go straight to Remus and attempt to explain, but with no Peter, it was very unlikely Remus would listen. He had had over a decade to stew on the betrayal. Bygones wouldn’t be bygones. This girl- Hermione, he reminded himself again- believed in Harri. She was the best entry point he could hope for with Remus. Someone to go in first and _explain_. Worst case, Remus would prioritize using Sirius to find Harri again. Who knew where she was now. Was she still in Albania? Had they moved?

Blacks had always been able to feel the movement of magic around them. Like an itch on the skin. Some felt it too deeply (take his mad cousin Bellatrix) and others hardly at all (Cissy had never shown the signs). But Sirius, Sirius had always felt the itch in a mild and pleasant sort of way. The wrong sort of itch in his family’s eyes. The feel and movement of light magic had always appealed to the Black Sheep of the Black Family. Something was happening now. He felt it crawling on his skin. It was Dumbledore, but he was certain that it was Harriet too.

Litha was approaching, and he had gooseflesh.

There was a soft knock on the door in the spare room Hermione had sent him to hide in.  

“It will be easier to explain you if they don’t see you the moment they walk in,” the girl had said, pushing him up the stairs. It was the logic of a child, but he would let her call the shots here. Respect her boundaries and requests. The more comfortable Hermione was, the more comfortable her parents would be with her galavanting off with him.

It was not Hermione who entered the room, but her parents.

The man stood partially in front of his wife. There was a tightness to his shoulders, and Sirius knew that if he made one wrong move the man would tackle him. Muggles could be so brave.

He had cleaned himself up in the washroom. No magic or the Ministry would come running. He had found scissors and hacked off most of the bedraggled hair. A shower had done wonders for getting off the grime. Hermione had supplied some of her father’s clothes; a jumper and joggers. They hung off him loosely. There wasn’t anything that could be done about his teeth or the gaunt look. The teeth needed magic to set right again. His ghoulish frame needed food. His skin needed sun.

 _‘Once the best looking bloke at Hogwarts,’_ he had thought, letting his Black vanity surface for a moment.

The intake of breath that the Grangers let out when they saw him let him know that a haircut, bath, and new clothes hadn’t done much to make him look less like a walking skeleton.

“Hello,” he said, his voice one of the few things unchanged about him now that it was used to speaking again. “Sirius Black.”

“Dan and Emma Granger,” said Hermione’s father stiffly.

“Our daughter tells us that her friend Harri sent you,” said Emma Granger accusingly.

“Yes. Harriet is my Goddaughter. She’s in trouble, and I need Hermione’s help to get her out of it.”

“What has my daughter got to do with that? Harri may be her friend, but they’re both just children,” Emma said. “We’ve seen you on the news. You’re an escaped convict! We should be altering Amelia Bones with the Department of Law Enforcement.” The fact that they hadn’t was intensely relieving.

“That was a crime I didn’t commit. I was framed. Never given a trial.” The more often he said it, the more he wanted to shout it to the word. The injustice had simmered beneath the surface for a decade, but now it was a full boil.

Dan Granger nodded. “From what we’ve seen of your justice system that's not surprising.” Granger’s shoulders relaxed. “Please explain why Harri sent you to our daughter instead of someone else. Hermione is convinced that she’s the only one that can explain you to- Remus Lupin, was it?”

“Remus was a good friend of mine in school,” Black began. “There were four of us. James, Remus, and Peter Pettigrew. When the Potters had to go underground to hide from the Dark Lord they used a spell that could hide them.”

“A spell that could hide them? What does that mean? How does it work?” the woman asked, eyes narrowing. Her husband placed a hand on her wrist, for which Black was grateful. These Granger women asked a lot of questions.

“It’s complicated,” Sirius explained. “That isn’t to disrespect you, it’s just tricky magic. The idea is that you have a secret. And someone hides that secret inside their head. Where someone lives, for example. The address disappears from everyone else's’ minds. It can only come back if the Secret-Keeper tells them the secret. We told everyone that I was the Secret Keeper for the Potters. We thought it would make a good distraction. The Dark Lord would focus on me.”

“It wasn’t you,” Emma Granger said, nodding. “You wanted to throw them off so you chose someone else.”

“Yes. Peter. When I came to the house and saw all the wreckage…. Well, Hagrid was there and was taking Harriet from the ruble. I asked for her… and would that he had given her to me. I wouldn’t have rushed after Peter.”

“But you did, and thirteen people died,” said Hermione's father.

“That’s true. Maybe they wouldn’t have if Peter hadn’t felt threated. There he was, shouting “How could you Sirius, Lily and James”. He cut off his finger, cast a blasting curse that killed all those people, turned into a rat, and ran into the sewer he had exposed under the street. London is covered with runes to track magic usage in the Muggle areas. The Obliviation Squad and the Aurors arrived before I could blink. I’ll be honest, I didn’t act innocent in the moment. I was in shock. Lily and James were dead, Peter had gotten away and framed me for a crime, and all I should do was laugh.”

“And Remus Lupin… he wouldn’t listen to you explain this?” Hermione’s mother asked.

“No. He’d cast first and ask questions later. It’s what I’d do if I saw Peter or thought Remus had been the traitor. But if Hermione were to go in first, before Remus had even seen me, showed him the letter and _explained…_ well, I think he could tell Dumbledore and Snape that I can help… Harri is with a very bad man right now. She can’t leave or another girl will die. Dumbledore has to negotiate with the Dark Lord for her freedom. Dumbledore wouldn’t listen to me if I found him. He will listen to Remus. He might even listen to your daughter. Smartest witch of her age, according to Harriet.”

Hermione’s parents looked at him speculatively. Then at each other. They had a silent communication that only comes from years of marriage.    

“We have a condition,” Emma Granger declared. “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth, but Hermione says that you made a magical vow. Maybe that matters, maybe it doesn’t. I’ve no way to test it. But we trust Hermione on what this magic means. I suppose we have to trust you too, for now. It’s clear what you need, Mr. Black. You need a lawyer and a trial.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the condition.

“You will perform the secret-magic on this house so that other wizards cannot find it. You will show Hermione how to do it. She will be the holder of that secret.”

He would need to find the runes that the Ministry had placed in the area and destroy them, but a Black could follow the itch of magic. It wouldn’t take too long.

“After which, you will stay here while Hermione goes to the location of Remus Lupin. You will let us be in possession of your wand and stay in this room while our daughter is gone. In return, we will contact our lawyer, Amelia Bones, to see about how to get you a trial.” Emma Granger saw Sirius open his mouth, but clarified, “Once you have gone off with Lupin to find your Goddaughter, that is. Ameilia has explained to us about these Legacy Seats in the Ministry.” He almost wanted to laugh. Muggles who knew about Wizarding Law, who would have thought.

Dan Granger continued where his wife had left off. “What we want from you, Mr. Black, is reform in the Ministry. We want the Weasley seat restored and the Black seat fighting for Muggle rights.”

Sirius Black let out a bark of laughter. These were his kind of Muggles, yes indeed. “If I could, I’d agree to it all. But, Hermione won’t be able to get to Remus without me. You don’t have a floo. It’s apparition or nothing.”

Dan an Emma Granger eyed him wearily. He didn’t envy them their position. They had no control over the situation and no reason to trust him.

“Mum, Dad,” came the voice of Hermione from the doorway. All three adults jumped. “Mr. Black really did make a magical vow that he’s trying to help Harri. He won’t break that vow. You can trust him.”

“But how can you be sure?” asked her mother, looking for the first time like she was about to cry. In anger, fear, or frustration Sirius didn’t know.

“Because there once was a woman named Dorcas Meadows,” said Hermione, looking Sirius straight in the eye. “She’s dead now because of people like the Dark Lord. You know about this,” she said gesturing to her silver mark cover. “You know what an utter pounce Draco is. His father set that monster on the school to kill _me_. He didn’t go to jail. He just bribed a few people and got off scot-free.  Well, Dorcas Meadows was like me, mum. She was a muggle-born with a pureblood soulmate. Her family got killed.”

Emma Granger covered her mouth and started to shake her head.

“Mum, you’ve been doing all this secretly? Talking to a lawyer, trying to push Muggle rights?” Hermione asked, looking at her mother with pure adoration.

“Of course we have, Hermione,” her father said. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Hermione nodded, looking like her face about to break. “You’re the best parents. But if we want to make sure that there are no more Dorcas Meadows in this world, families murdered by virtue of being Muggle, we need him. We have to trust him. We can’t become just another statistic of bigotry and intolerance. I refuse.”

Sirius looked on at the small family and thought of his own. His hateful mother, absent father, and Regulas… well, Regulus was a sore spot that would never go away for Sirius. The Grangers loved each other in a way that his parents had never loved him. They were fighters. Bloody brilliant, all three.

Harriet had some damned good taste in friends.

* * *

Hermione knocked on the cabin door. June 23rd was a waxing crescent moon. It was morning. This was fine. There was no werewolf at the door, only a man. It was a Wednesday, he might not even be home. Which was bad. She wanted the werewolf to answer the door, even if she felt apprehensive.

The door opened. He was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with grey.

“Yes?” he asked, looking very surprised to see a young girl at his door.

“M-Mr. Lupin?” Hermione squeaked out.

“Yes,” he repeated. “Can I help you?”

“M-My name is Hermione. I’m a friend of Harri’s. I’ve come for your help.” She held out the letter Harri had sent her.

Harri’s name caused an instant reaction. He snatched the piece of parchment and read through quickly. His face darkened as he read. Without any warning, he pulled Hermione into the cabin, slammed the door, and whipped out his wand. He cast a ward on the door that she had read about in an advanced defense text.

“You can’t trust a thing that man says,” Lupin said sharply. “Where is he hiding? I’ll take care of him.”

Hermione shook her head. “No. No. Listen to me. Please. That ward would hold him he tried to get in. Please.” Lupin’s grip tightened on his wand, knuckles white.

“He’s escaping right now,” Lupin growled, but he didn’t make a move for the door. Old loyalty, perhaps?

“Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper!” Hermione blurted out.

Lupin went supernaturally still. His eyes were yellow, like a wolfs. Had they been that color before?  Hermione worked hard to keep her voice steady but felt all too much like a thirteen-year-old in over her head.

“Peter Pettigrew betrayed Lily and James Potter. Not Sirius Black.”

Was it only a beat? Several minutes? She couldn’t tell. Remus Lupin was so still that he didn’t look like he was breathing. Hermione felt herself slip into the strange stiffness petrification had given her in response. Her mind whirled. What to do if he didn’t believe her?

“Do you have any proof?” Lupin asked at last. Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to blink.

“He said that Peter Pettigrew cut off his finger and disappeared as a rat down a sewer after blowing up the street,” Hermione said. “How can be there any real proof? You know his character, you know Peter’s. I suppose you’d need to be the judge. All I can say is that he swore to me that he was trying to save Harri. Swore on his magic.”

“They switched… without telling me?” he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

Hermione forced herself to fidget every few seconds. It was too easy to go stiff under stress. Did Lupin find this plausible? Did it matter so long as the end result was Harri free and the Dark Lord kept from life?

“Sirius is her godfather. He can find her, no matter what.” Remus whispered to himself. “He broke out as soon as Harri was taken… Would he do that just for the Dark Lord? His magic never was like mine, it never made sense… but If Harri is beholden to the Dark Lord under the Captivus Curse, only Dumbledore, Snape, or Sirius could negotiate for her release. Sirius and Snape for the curse itself and Dumbledore for her physical self….” he trailed off again, mind working fast. His body was strangely frozen, like a predator who has sighted prey. He did not blink as he muttered to himself.

“Dumbledore won’t believe Black without me,” Remus said, finally meeting Hermione’s gaze, blinking at last. He was instantly more human. “Lily and James told him, told us all, that Black was the secret keeper. Even if I told Black’s side… we need the rat. But I suppose we don’t have that. There isn’t a thing backing up Sirius’ case.”

A rat. Peter Pettigrew with a missing finger. Hermione could feel the strings of magic on the subject of Peter Pettigrew. Her mind was chewing, she just didn't’ know on _what_ yet. There was something missing… something about a missing finger.

“The Dark Lord has Harri,” Hermione said firmly. “Black can find her. Does the rest matter?”

“No,” Lupin agreed. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Turning, he took the ward off the door and opened it.


	6. Negotiations

It probably wasn’t ethical to say that being a prisoner of the Dark Lord was boring. Harri felt guilty for even thinking it. Albania had been terrifying, and that had been with the memory of a Dark Lord. Living with the real thing in the middle of Muggle London should prevent Harri from sleeping. Should keep her jumping at every sound. 

It wasn’t like that.

That had arrived at the hotel on the 24th, on Litha. It had been a quiet weekend, and now it was Monday, June 28th. Harri knew because she could read the paper each morning with breakfast, either in her room or down in one of the three restaurants the hotel boasted. Voldemort had given her free reign to wander around the hotel but had specifically told her that she wasn’t to leave the hotel or preform magic outside of their rooms. The wards he had placed prevented the Ministry from picking up magic performed inside their suite. 

Voldemort wasn’t hard to live with. He was had interesting things to say, was courteous and answered any questions Harri had. He smiled, and even laughed, when Harri was being purposefully difficult. It was fake. She could feel it. He wasn’t nice and he wasn’t someone who was easy to live with. He was a monster trying to hide his claws. Yet, despite trying her best to stay alert, Harri knew she was being lulled into a false sense of security. Into bored complacency. 

Harri kept Tom Riddle’s original demand in the front of her mind. She had written it down again and again so she was sure to keep it straight. "You must swear on your magic that you won't make a fuss. You'll come with me without complaint. You won't run away. You'll stay with me until I release you. If you do that, I will let Ginny Weasley live."

“You won’t make a fuss,” was the hardest one to suss the meaning out of. It appeared that Voldemort liked it when she made a little bit of a fuss. There was something in his expression, in the way his magic reacted, that let Harri know that he was enjoying it. But when she went too far… well, she felt that in his magic too. Felt it in the way her magic stiffened and made clear that she had found the line of where she was no longer amusing to him, but an annoyance. 

Voldemort had spent the last several days writing letters. He went out at night, but was always back in their rooms by morning. He made use of the hotel pool and gym, ate food with clear pleasure, and wore clothing that looked expensive. He reminded her of a Dragon making his home in a hoard, like Smaug. 

When she came out of her room the morning of the 28th  it was to a sight that made her freeze. Severus Snape was sitting at the breakfast table, speaking calmly to Voldemort. They were chatting like two old friends. Harri’s hands curled into fists. 

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, announcing her presence. 

Snape and Voldemort looked over to her like she was the one being odd. Like she should find it normal to have her guardian and kidnapper chatting like old chums. 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “To take you home, of course,” was his casual reply. It was a relief to hear, but it felt wrong. Snape wasn’t going to just take her home. That wasn’t how this worked. Voldemort was not going to let her go for nothing.

“Now, Severus,” said Voldemort coolly, “We haven’t reached that part of the negotiation. That is for Dumbledore.”

Snape’s lips thinned. “Yes, you are correct of course, My Lord.” 

What? What had happened to ‘I have no master?’ down in the Chamber. Why was Snape acting like the servant of Lord Voldemort? Was he… had he gone back to the Dark Side? Was he serving the Dark Lord again? After all that talk of her _mother._  Had he ever stopped serving Voldemort? Her mind was a whir. 

“You _traitor_ ,” Harri snarled. “You liar. You were with him all along?” 

“Now, Harriet. None of that. You don’t want to be making a fuss, do you?” Voldemort asked softly. Her spine stiffened and she wanted to run back into her room and slam the door. 

“Come, sit and eat,” Snape told her, “You look too thin,” he said pointedly to Voldemort.

Harri walked stiffly to the table, seething. Snape had lied. Two years had been a lie. He had never stopped serving the Dark. Had he never really cared for her?

Harri slumped gracelessly into the chair and glared at them both. She stayed silent, waiting for someone else to speak first. If she had learned anything from her month with Tom it was that silence got to Voldemort quickly. He liked the sound of his own voice. 

“Well, Harriet,” Voldemort said, buttering his muffin. “Severus and I have come to terms over your release from the arrangement we made down in the Chamber. Things will be a little less comfortable for you here until Dumbledore and I come to an agreement, but I doubt it will take longer. You’ll be back at Hogwarts before the end of the week, I should think.” 

“What… what do you mean?” Harri asked. “Why do you need to come to terms with Snape and Dumbledore.” 

“You are still a minor. A guardian can negotiate your release from _Captivus_ ,” Snape explained. 

“But not your release from my custody,” Voldemort continued. “As a magical person of the _Light_ , only Dumbledore can negotiate your release from my care.” 

Dumbledore and Snape were both having to negotiate? That didn’t seem fair. Then again, none of it did. Was Snape here because Voldemort had summoned him? Or had Snape found them through Sirius?

“Is Sirius…?” Harri trailed off. 

“Miss. Granger and Mr. Lupin were able to tell us your location, rather miraculously,” Snape told her, dark eyes glinting. “Albus has kept the source of their knowledge to himself. But it was clear to me whom dear old Lupin must have been speaking with.” His voice snapped with anger. Clearly, there were no bygones. She was glad she hadn’t sent Black to Snape after all. It would have been a duel. 

“Yes,” Voldemort added in, narrowing those red eyes. “Imagine my surprise when Severus here knocked on our door this morning.”

“I know you prefer to summon, and not intruded upon by your followers, My Lord,” Snape said, trying to cut the tension. Voldemort didn’t take his eyes off Harri. “My ward is my responsibility, it has been my duty to find her.” 

Voldemort ignored Snape. “Just how did you get information to Sirius Black, Harriet?” he asked her silkily. 

“I didn’t make a fuss. I didn’t run away. I didn’t complain,” Harri told him. “I’ve kept my word.”  Snape had given her an Occlumency book two years ago to help her manage her wayward magic. Never one to have a clear mind, Harri tried to simply to focus on the truth of her statement. 

“Thankfully, it isn’t a sixteen-year-old making the agreement this time,” Voldemort said darkly. “Our deal in the Chamber would have been worded very differently… but we cannot change the past. Only affect the future. To that end, Harriet,” Voldemort picked up a blank piece of parchment sitting beside him on the table. “If you could imbue this with your magic, Severus and I can finalize our agreement.”

Harri dropped the cup of tea she had been picking up to drink. The tea spilled, staining the lace tablecloth.

“No.”

Immediately she felt Voldemort's magic slide around her, taut with anger. “This isn’t a yes or a no, Harriet.”

She shook her head. “No. No. No. I’m not a part of this. Black explained how that spell worked. You’re not tricking me!” 

“Who said anything about a trick, Harriet?” Voldemort asked. “The terms of your release need to be sealed appropriately. Severus would break an Unbreakable Vow, wouldn’t you, Severus? He’d happily give up his magic. No, death and magic don’t mean much to Severus Snape,” Voldemort chucked, and it was cold enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “You, on the other hand, mean quite a lot.  The Severus I knew would never rush into the Chamber of Secrets or be able to wield the Sword of Gryffindor. Oh no. But for _you_ , he did. Severus Snape will do whatever I ask of him if it’s _your life_ that’s caught in the balance.”

A chill went down her spine, and Harri looked at Snape with horror. He’d bargained with her life? What were the terms of this agreement that Snape would rather die than fulfill them? Snape wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I won’t ask again, Harriet. Imbue this with your magic and then go to your room. The adults are negotiating, and you don’t have a place at this table just yet.”

It wasn’t hard to put her magic into the parchment. Three deep breaths and concentration was all that it took. 

She held it out for Snape to take. If he was going to gamble with her life she deserved eye contact. He deserved to see how angry she was that he was using that vile _Captivus Curse_. He met her gaze, and she didn’t see a hint of remorse. She flung the paper at him, stood, and stalked back to her room.

At least she could be as much of a bother as she wanted once they signed. She wouldn’t need to care whether or not she was making a fuss. Harri Potter could be the biggest damn headache Voldemort had ever met. He would deserve it. 

She tried to listen at the door, but all she heard a faint buzzing sound. There would be no knowing what the terms of this agreement were. 

Anger filled her, but for once her magic didn’t start to riot around the room. Well, that wouldn’t do, because she needed something to break. She grabbed a lamp and hurled it across the room, shattering it. 

Harri stared at the broken shards on the ground. Sometimes she felt like it would be better for it all to end. The world would be better without her in it. These games of high magic- between good and evil, dark and light- they could just be over. 

A belated sob escaped and she threw herself on top of the bed and started punching the pillows. Snape, Dumbledore, Voldemort- they were betting her life. How _dare_ Snape sign an agreement where her life hung in the balance. When Harri had agreed to let him be her guardian she had never dreamed of this kind of betrayal. None of it made sense. Voldemort wanted her to live, didn’t he? That had been Dumbledore’s argument the whole time. That Voldemort wouldn’t participate in the rituals because Harri wasn’t there.

These marks on her wrist were supposed to guarantee that Voldemort valued her. The Tom Riddle of the diary had seemed fixated on her in a way that had been disturbing. Why wasn’t this version? Why was Voldemort willing to gamble with her life?

She wished Hermione were here. Hermione would understand. Or if she didn’t… at least Hermione would hold her. Sometimes Harri felt angry that Hermione had trusted Draco Malfoy instead of coming to her, but Harri had come to a small amount of peace about it. Hermione hadn’t told Malfoy she was a parselmouth. Hermione had tried to find proof quietly. Hermione wouldn’t have exposed Harri in front of the entire school. 

Harri hadn’t spoken to Hermione for seven months now, and she really missed her best friend.

* * *

Voldemort casually summoned her wand when he opened the door to her room at last. 

“No magic, Harriet. Can’t have you running off now,” he said with a smirk. 

“Whatever,” she said, glaring, sitting up on her bed. “Let me guess what else you’re going to do. You’re locking the door when you’re gone. You’re silencing the room so that I can’t shout for help. The windows will be locked. And here I’ll stay, till Dumbledore agrees to God knows what.” 

“Essentially. A few more wards to stop any pesky Godfathers from wandering in,” he added with a horrid smile that made her skin crawl. 

The comforter bunched in her hands. “How long until I can leave?” she asked.  

“Soon enough. My agreement with Dumbledore won’t cause you much pain, Harriet. Though it is an agreement I expect you to take part in.”

“I’m not agreeing to another _Captivus_ ,” she spat, and it was satisfying to not have her magic warn against rudeness. The confirmation of her release was sweet. 

“No, this will be more along the lines of both parties agreeing to certain terms. A peace treaty. Armistice.” He flicked his wand and the lamp she had smashed mended and flew back onto the bedside table.  

“What terms?” Harri asked hesitantly. 

“The terms I have sent with Severus to give Dumbledore are as follows,” Voldemort began, sitting on the bed next to her. “In exchange for silence on the subject of my return and identity, for your physical return to Dumbledore, and for you to attend the next eight magical rites, I will refrain from starting a war. I will order any followers I contact to refrain from killing in my name or the name of the Dark.”

It was what Harri had wanted. No war. What did that mean, though, to remain silent on his return?  Snape knew. So did Remus, Hermione, and Dumbledore. She didn’t know who else. 

“What are we supposed to tell people then?” Harri asked at last. “Everyone knows that I was kidnapped.”

“By a troublesome spirit that Dumbledore and Severus Snape dispatched. The Dark Lord Voldemort is finally no more,” Voldemort said in complete seriousness.

“You want us to lie to the entire wizarding world so they won’t be prepared for you to attack? You want the deal to be that we can’t say it’s you unless you start a war!” Harri accused. 

“Oh, no. I’m planning to go quite a different way,” Voldemort said. “With Voldemort dead, I can simply take on a new identity. One that isn’t burdened with all this Wizarding War nonsense.”

“Nonsense!” Harri exclaimed in anger, “It was your war! You started it!”

“And now it is over, just like you asked. Aren’t you grateful, Harriet?” 

Not a bit. The smug, horrible, monster! 

“A new identity…”  Harri trailed off as she spoke. “You want us to say that Voldemort is dead so that you can claim to be the new Dark Lord.”

“Very good, Harriet.” 

“Dumbledore won’t agree to that,” Harri announced. “He’ll say no. There is no way he’ll set you loose on the Wizarding World.”

“You’d be surprised what Dumbledore would agree to if it means stopping a war. Right and Wrong have never meant much to Albus, so long as his aims are in service to the Greater Good. You should learn that now, Harriet.” 

“You’re wrong,” said Harri with conviction. There was a whisper in the back of her mind that maybe it was Harri who was wrong.  She didn’t really know Dumbledore, she could count the number of conversations they had had on two hands. 

“Not often, and not now,” Voldemort replied, standing and taking his leave. 

* * *

Things were ‘less comfortable’ after Snape’s negotiation. 

If Harri had been bored before, she was jumping off the wall now. There was nothing to do. Voldemort left her books to read, and there was a tele in her room, but otherwise, it was very dull. Voldemort left during the day now too, and Harri couldn’t leave the room at all when he was gone. Voldemort was wrong that she would be free by Friday, it was a full week before Voldemort finally announced that he and Dumbledore had come to terms. 

“It’s well enough,” Voldemort said with too much cheer on the 5th of July. He poured her tea and handed her the cup. She barely looked up from the book she was reading on Advanced Runes. Harri had gone from throwing everything she could find at Voldemort (several full-body binds had resulted), to screaming at him that she demanded to be let go (several painful lashes of magic and a silencing charm), and was now onto ignoring him. He might want to play house and pretend that they were cordial friends, but they weren't.

“Don’t you want to know the terms of your release?” he asked with that smug smile. She wanted to throw the hot tea at his too-perfect face. 

“Fine,” she said, closing the book. 

“Ask with manners, Harriet,” Voldemort said softly. When he spoke like that she knew it was better to listen. If she made too much of a fuss he would cast a spell to make her uncomfortable. A heating spell to make her feel like she was in the middle of a desert. A cooling spell that made her gave her violent chills and felt like she was going numb all over. The worst was the spell he had used one to make her deaf and unable to feel anything, like she was locked in a soundproofed room. Harr had felt as if she were going mad. Thankfully her own magic would absorb his spells after too long, but an hour was enough to make her reluctant to fight too much more. That had been the end of any throwing or screaming. 

“Would you please tell me the terms of the agreement,” Harri said with false sweetness. If he noticed the tone, he didn’t say anything. 

“I have agreed to release you physically and to publicly call for the end of the rift between Dark and Light. No war and no Muggle-Baiting. Dumbledore and I will give a joint speech where he will introduce me as the new Dark Lord.”

“And in exchange?” Harri asked softly. 

“You will attend the next four magical rites. You and Dumbledore will both publicly declare that Lord Voldemort was defeated. You will _never_ reveal my identity as the Dark Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle.”

“And if I did want to let the whole world know who you really are?” she asked, teacup shaking in her hand.

“Let me assure you, Harri, if you do I will kill every Muggle that I can find.” 

She clenched her jaw to stop herself from speaking right away. More secrets. No telling Hermione, Ron, and Neville. Well, that was fine. They would be happier not knowing the truth. 

“Fine,” she said. “Wonderful. No more killing was what I asked from you.”

“It is. Which means I have done as you requested, Harriet. In exchange for my debt.” His voice was soft and silky, and he looked like the cat who had gotten the canary. She felt a tug on her magic, and could feel words bubbling up instinctively like they had while looking at her parents' statues in Godric’s Hallow. 

“So long as you continue to negotiate with Dumbledore in good faith, I release you from your debt,” she said softly.

“Excellent,” Voldemort said, looking far too pleased. For the life of her, Harri couldn’t figure out why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to add a note about suicidal thoughts. First, if you are struggling with them please seek health. 
> 
> Throughout the Harry Potter series, Harry periodically goes through extreme stress. When those moments have occurred/are occurring he tends to have passive suicidal/depressed thoughts. Examples being when Sirius died in OotP (The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it.), after finding out the prophecy (“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —”) and during DH while, understandably, facing dementors (He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through him: Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead; how many more lay dead that he did not yet know about; he felt as though his soul had already half left his body....) are a few examples. 
> 
> I don't think it's out of character for Harri to have a suicidal thought after thinking that Snape has betrayed her and that he is gambling with her life by using the Captivus Curse to make an agreement with Voldemort. To fully explain what happened there btw- Voldemort has to release Harri from the curse. He bargained with Snape for Snape to do a task, and to ensure that Snape will do that task, Voldemort is using the Captivus Curse with Harri as the Captive. Harri feels betrayed that her life is being bargained with, and as a result has a suicidal thought. 
> 
> I don't mean to imply that 'Harri' will be a severely depressed character. It just seemed like in the long run, Harry often didn't value his life in comparison with others and would have thoughts about death being easier than his life.


	7. Summer Freedom

When Harri woke the next morning she went about her usual routine. She was hopeful that today would be the day of her official release. Voldemort had laid out the terms of his deal with Dumbledore the night before, so there was no reason to delay.

Harri made the bed, a long-standing habit from chores at the Dursleys, and showered. Without her wand, Harri couldn’t do any of the charms that she had learned from Lavender and Parvati to handle her hair, so she french braided it after using the blow dryer. 

She dressed in one of the dresses Voldemort had conjured for her. All of them had an air of something from the 1950s. This one was yellow with a floral pattern and had become one of her favorites. The only one she hadn’t worn was a pale pink number. Harri knew from Parvati that she wasn’t a spring, and to avoid pinks.

“You’re definitely a fall, Harri,” Parvati had explained, looking at Harri’s inner wrist. “You tan well enough, and with your hair! Well, you’ve done well with navy and green. But I think you should add warmer colors to your wardrobe. The Gryffidnor scarlet might be too bright, but I think more corals and golds would flatter you.”

“Are you a fall too?” Harri had asked Parvati. She had a warmer skin tone.

“No. I’m a summer. Since there isn’t much color contrast between my eyes, skin, and hair I can wear more cool toned pastels without getting washed out.”

Looking in the mirror at her braided hair and pretty dress, Harri felt a dissociation between who she really was and who she was presenting.  She was no lady. She was just Harri, and that was all she had ever wanted to be. Harri thought with some longing of Yggdrasil and the calmness she had felt being near the tree. 

Maybe she could go back? Get more answers? Some advice? Everything felt muddled since she had seen Snape at the table with Voldemort. She had gone over the scene again and again. Had Snape been pretending the whole time? Did he not… did he not care for her? He must! He had gone down into the Chamber for her. He had slain a Basilisk and told her to run while on death’s door.  

Was it an act for Voldemort? Was Snape pretending to be the loyal servant once again because he was trying to protect Harri? It didn’t feel like he was protecting her if he signed the parchment she had imbued with her magic, agreeing to the Captivus Curse. Both Voldemort and Snape were being mighty cavalier with her life. 

At the moment it didn’t seem like anyone had her best interests in mind, which wasn’t new. It was simply that… when Snape had held her while she sobbed at the Mirror of Erised it had meant something. When he had been worried after her fight with Quirrell she had felt cared about. All last year Snape had been struggling with being her guardian, but he had always been there. Had always seemed like he _wanted the best for her_.

He got it wrong often enough, he would snap or get caught up in his work. In those moments was that the real Snape showing through? In the end, did Snape care more about the Dark Lord and power than he did about Harri?

Was Harri just a means to an end?

She wouldn’t know until they spoke, and Harri didn’t know what she should say. It was all so confusing, and she partly wanted to forget that any of it was happening.  Pretend that life was normal and there wasn't a Dark Lord or Light Lord. 

That wasn’t the life Harri was getting through. What she was getting was a pretty young girl in a yellow dress and braided hair who looked like she had never worked a day in her life. It was the girl Harri had longed to be two years ago, but it was all an illusion. Inside she would always be the girl who lived in a cupboard, and it wouldn’t matter how many pretty dresses Voldemort conjured. 

 

Harri finally looked away from her reflection. It was time for breakfast. Would Voldemort be there? Part of her hoped yes, if only for the company. Harri opened her bedroom door but was surprised at the sight that greeted her. 

The suite door was cracked open. 

Harri stepped out of her bedroom and looked quickly around the rest of the suite. He wasn’t in the sitting room. His bedroom door was flung open and clearly empty. She couldn't feel his magic in the room. 

Voldemort was nowhere to be seen, so Harri slowly opened it the suite door the rest of the way. 

She stepped out into the hallway for the first time in a week. Harri didn’t want to wait for the elevator and instead bounded down the empty stairway two at a time. Was this escape? Was it her release? Who was to say, she wasn’t going to wait and find out. 

When she burst out into the lobby she was greeted with none other than Albus Dumbledore sitting at one the tables having a cup of coffee. He was dressed in a Muggle suit and his long beard was glamoured to look more conventional. 

Harri all but galloped over. 

“Ah good, Harri,” said Dumbledore, catching sight of her. “He said that you’d be about soon.”

“It’s not an escape then?” Harri asked, voice breathless. 

“Not this time, my dear. Though I must say that I’m glad you weathered your time Lord Peverell well.” 

Lord Peverell was it? Was he going by that name now, or was it just because they were around Muggles? It wasn’t like she could straight out ask, so Harri just slumped into the hair opposite Dumbledore.

“Do you have my wand?” Harri asked quietly, mindful of the Muggles. “He took it last week.”

“I do,” said Dumbledore, equally softly. “And I will return it to you as soon as we leave for Hogwarts. Before we can though, I will need your written agreement to the terms Lord Peverell has set out.”

“He said it wasn’t Captivus again!” Harri said a little louder than she should have.

“No, no that,” Dumbledore assured. “No. It’s only the basic terms of an agreement. Nothing binding, in a typical way. Usually, it would be kept between the two of us, but seeing as your involvement is required, it was requested that you agree to the terms as well.” 

“Fine,” Harri said, eager to leave. “Can I read it, first?”

“Of course,” he said, handing her the folded piece of parchment. The terms were the same as Voldemort had articulated the previous night. Four magical rites, public statements about Voldemort being a _new_ Dark Lord, and a promise to never reveal his true identity. 

Looking over what Voldemort had agreed to, something stuck out. 

“Why does it just say my physical release?”

“Professor Snape negotiated your release from the Captivus Curse,” Dumbledore explained softly. 

“Only to make me the captive,” Harri hissed. 

“Professor Snape had my approval to enter into the agreement, Harri. Nothing was asked of him that will put your life in danger.” 

She felt mutinous. Dumbledore was agreeing to this nonsense too. 

Her hands began to shake, and Dumbledore reached out and softly took one of them in his. His hands were the oldest looking part of him, very wrinkled and boney. But they were strong, and there was something decidedly reassuring about the gesture. 

“You are more valuable to the Light than anyone, Harri. Your life is not something we have gambled with. I promise you, you are not at risk in all these machinations. Every step we are taking is to ensure your autonomy from the Dark Lord. You could not stay under his thumb, and these were the only terms he would agree to.” 

“What exactly did Professor Snape agree to?” Harri asked.

“It is not that I wish to keep it form you, Harri, but it was a condition that Severus tell no one. I can only guess because I suggested the terms of the bargain to him.”

“Then tell me.”

“It is not for me to share,” said Dumbledore shaking his head. “It is Severus’ burden, not yours.” 

“That isn’t fair. You say you want to give me autonomy, but no one ever tells me anything. You all just want to keep me in the dark and bargain with my life, but no one ever gives me a say. I do well enough, don’t I? I went down into the Chamber. Ginny didn’t die. I went after the stone when Voldemort was going to get it. Everyone says to trust the adults, but none of you _do_ anything. It’s always me.”

Dumbledore’s face was very grave. He let go of her hand and folded his long fingers together seriously. “I don’t have easy answers for you, Harri. I will admit, at times I have let you be in situations that are dangerous. I knew that there was a chance you would go after the stone, how could I not? Just as I knew that the memory of Tom Riddle would want nothing more than to take you to the Dark Lord. There is higher magic at play in all this, Harri. Magic I cannot control. You and the Dark Lord are tied together, your magic is linked. Yggdrasil has decreed you to be his equal, not me. For every step I have taken to shield you, you have taken a different path that led to the Dark Lord. You are called together, and there is precious little I can do to stop it.”

Harri had to blink away tears. “But have you even tried?”

“We are all trying, Harri. And we are failing, we have failed you time and again.” 

“I don’t want any of this,” Harri said as steadily as she could. Her voice still wavered. “Why is it me?” 

“I can only say, Harri, that it is our choices that show what we really are. You have always chosen to be brave. To put the lives of others ahead of your own. You are not even thirteen, and you are already a better Lady of Light than I was at thirty. You have fought a grown woman’s fight. I am… prouder of you than I can say.” 

Harri closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, trying to center all the feelings that were rioting inside of her. 

When she opened her eyes again, Dumbledore was looking at her with a curious expression, blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. “I suppose I’ll sign this then,” Harri said. 

Dumbledore reached into his suit pocket and produced a pen. “Curious inventions,” he said handing it to her. “You know, I’ve thought time and time again of introducing them to the Hogwarts students. Much easier to handle than quills. The mutiny that would occur if pureblood scions came home writing with a muggle pen. Why the howlers might just be worth the amusement.” 

“You should do it, sir,” Harri said, signing her name. “It would be well worth it. Lined paper would also be a good introduction. Then Ron wouldn’t be able to cheat on his papers by writing in a larger script.”

“Ah, Harri, that one will have to stay up to Mr. Weasley’s discretion. The Professors are all capable of discerning when students are trying to get away with writing a lazy paper. It is the content of the work that gets a grade, not the length. The reason we assign parchment lengths is in the hope of limiting over-eager young witches, like Ms. Granger. Without a limit, she could very well turn in a thesis every week.”  

That did sound like Hermione. Which reminded her of the black dog she had sent to her friend. Apparently, her plan had worked. Snape had come knocking on their door, after all.

“What about Sirius Black?” Harri asked. “He’s not in danger still, is he?”

“I have counseled Mr. Black to find refuge in his family’s home for the time being. He is currently in contact with a lawyer to have a trial instead of being kissed on sight by a dementor.”

“He got a lawyer? Well, that’s good!”

“Yes, the one that Miss. Granger’s parents recommended actually,” said Dumbledore. Was that a hint of unease in his voice?

“How hard will it be to get Sirius a trial?”

“Difficult, to an extent. I can call for one easily enough as the Head of the Wizengamot. The actual vote though… I cannot guarantee that would go in Sirius’ favor.”

“Why not just use pensive memories? Or Veritaserum?”

“Oh, it won’t be the content of the testimony that I question. Trials are closed to the public and press, as such there won’t be a transcript released. Instead, it will be members voting however they wish. Without Peter Pettigrew found alive, and clearly displayed before the public, I highly doubt that the Wizengamot would vote to free Sirius Black.”  

“He’s a pureblood though?” Harri questioned.

“Yes. And what many old families call a blood-traitor. He represents not just one, but two new votes on the Wizengamot. Sirius has the power to give the Weasleys their seat back. It’s been tied up in Black lawsuits for decades.”

“And both of them would vote for our side…” Harri realized.

“Yes. It’s all politics and power. If you want a fair trial for Sirius it will be more bargaining.”

“We don’t have anything that they want?” Harri asked.

“I’m sure that we do,” said Dumbledore, “but the question is whether we have something that we would be willing to give.” 

“Sirius deserves to be free!” Harri insisted, voice raising too high for the quiet lobby they were sitting in. 

“He does,” Dumbledore agreed, “but just remember that everything has a cost, Harri. We will wait. Sirius is safe in his home. It’s layered with nearly as many enchantments as Hogwarts. I’ve even added a few of my own. When the time is right. If we act now it will cost us dearly, but if we wait and act as if it is not so very important, it may not. We will free Sirius.”

“I don’t even know him,” Harri said, “But I’d like to. He’s my Godfather. My father’s best friend. Remus told me stories about them.”

“I remember the mess they always made,” Dumbledore said wistfully. “Those were dark times, but with those boys, Hogwarts seemed a little brighter. They had their faults, of course, but when times are Dark laughter is our most powerful weapon.”

“I’d like to see him,” Harri said firmly.

“Remus Lupin is staying with Sirius for the time being. There are long-lasting effects from Dementor exposure. Remus is uniquely qualified to help Sirius handle long term exposure to dark magic.” 

“Could I go stay with them, then?”

“That will be between you and Professor Snape.”

Harri’s face soured. “He won’t let me go,” she said. 

“He may. You can only ask.” 

Harri slid down her seat. Snape wouldn’t agree. He hated Sirius Black too much. He would probably make her cut up potion ingredients all summer. Or brew for the Hospital Wing. Or help find all the citations for his paper. The man knew all the theory, but never knew which book he took it from. So it would be Harri scouring potions textbooks to find out whose theory Snape was building on. She would find it interesting if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius Black was yet another link to her parents. There wasn’t much that could hold her attention if there were stories about James Potter and Lily Evans to hear.    

* * *

It was a relief to have her wand back in her hand and to have a clear conduit of her magic. It made her feel more in control than she had in months. Tom had ensured that she had a wand while they were in Albania, but that had been when she couldn’t run away or make problems for him.

Voldemort had been willing to let her keep it under the same circumstance. But as soon as circumstances had changed he had snatched her wand away. She had never had any power, just an illusion.

At least now she was autonomous again. She had her wand and she was bound up by anyone. She could do whatever she wanted. Unless Snape broke his vow. Then she wouldn’t be doing anything at all. 

It was with some hesitancy that Harri was walking down to the dungeons. On one hand, she could go up to Gryffidnor tower. She’d have to find McGonagall for that first, but that would be the easier conversation. She could hide in the tower with Gulliver and not say a thing to Snape.

That was by far the easier option.

It wasn’t the brave one. The brave one was walking down to the dungeon and hashing things out with Snape sooner rather than later. If Harri was anything, it was needlessly brave.

She opened the door to Snape’s private quarters without knocking. He was brewing, which wasn’t new. Maybe she had expected a little pomp and circumstance about being back. A plume of blue smoke curled off the glassy surface of the cauldron. 

Well, that was interesting. Blue usually indicated the addition of Shrake Spines. Typically used in healing. Why was Snape brewing an advanced healing potion? If he was adding in blended dittany extract it wasn’t a cheap potion by any means. 

“What are you brewing?” Harri asked, and Snape jumped a foot in the air. 

He swung round, pure disbelief in his eyes. “Harriet,” he whispered, and before she could move he was sweeping her into his arms. Snape never hugged her unless she was in real emotional distress. Which she wasn’t right now. Excepting the traitor tear that slid down her cheek. 

“Thank God you’re alive,” he whispered into her hair. 

She pushed him away so she could look him in the eye. “You don’t get to act like everything is fine,” said Harri. “Because it’s not fine. You know it’s not.”

Snape pulled her close again. “You are alive, Harriet. That is the only thing that matters. You’re free of that...that monster. Never again,” he hissed, gripping her tight. “Do you hear me, never again Harriet. You can never bind yourself that close again. The things he could have used you for!”

“The things he did use me for,” said Harri softly. “Don’t you understand, he used my blood to come back.”

“But not your soul?” said Snape, squinting at her as if he would be able to tell such a thing on sight.

“I don’t think so,” Harri said, confused.

“You would know. We had to get you away from him. It was only a matter of time.”

“Until he used my soul? Why would he need to, he’s back isn’t he?”

“That’s… not for today Harriet. Soul Magic can be very Dark. There is a reason why we were worried about it. But for now… well, for now, you’re here. You’re safe, and you’ll stay that way.” 

“So you say,” said Harri, firmly pushing Snape away from her and stepping back. “But I’m still a captive, aren’t I?”

“The Dark Lord demanded terms that I could not refuse,” was all the Snape said stiffly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but closed his mouth into a thin line.

“I know what’s happening,” Harri said, vindictiveness echoing in each word. “You can feel your magic making you stop before you say anything. You could push past it if you wanted to, but you won’t. Because if you do, you’ll kill me. And it will stay that way until you fulfill whatever vow you agreed to. For however long it takes.”

“That is true,” Snape said, turning back to his potion that was starting to smoke. He gave it a quick two counter-clockwise stirs.

“And you think this is worth it?” Harri snapped. 

“Of course it is worth it, Harriet. You entered into a magical deal for Ginny Weasley, didn’t you? Was that worth it? I can’t help but notice that you chose her life over keeping the Dark Lord from rising again. Was that wise?”

She… hadn’t thought about it that way. Of course Ginny’s life was worth saving! But, in the long run, had Harri made a mistake? Should she have let Ginny Weasley die and run away from Tom?  Would Tom have been able to stop her? He had left her for days. When Sirius had come she could have escaped. 

‘It is our choice that shows what we really are,’ Dumbledore had said. But what did this choice make Harri? Harri found her usual stool and perched on it uneasily. 

“I don’t mean to imply that you made the wrong choice, Harriet,” Snape said, turning back to her. “Simply that choices have consequences. The guilt you would feel for killing Miss. Weasley would be life-altering. I am personally glad that it won’t be something you struggle with. What I mean to say is that the Dark Lord has agreed, for now, to abstain from killing. If he begins again, that will weigh upon you.”

“Of course it will!” Harri exclaimed, feeling increasingly distressed. “So is that it now? Every death that comes will be my fault?”

“No. Death is always the fault of the one who holds the wand. If another war should come, it will be the Dark Lord who is responsible for the deaths he causes. What I am trying to say, Harriet-” he broke off and looked like he wanted to rub his face in exasperation. Snape didn’t touch his face while brewing, so instead, he paced a quick circle.

“I’m trying to say that I’ve made a choice Harriet. One that will not put your life at risk because I would do just about _anything_ to keep you alive. I fought a bloody basilisk, do you understand? Not just because I loved your mother; Lily meant the world to me, but because you-” he broke off again. 

“My choice will have consequences,” he said at last. “Yours will too. We’ve both had to make hard choices that may have difficult results. Ones that will be hard to accept. Don’t put blame on yourself for what the Dark Lord does in the future. And I would ask of you, Harriet… please don’t blame me for what I’ll have to do.” 

That wasn’t a promise she could make. If people died, however many, she would blame herself. Whatever Snape had agreed to, if it had some sort of horrible effect on the world, she would blame herself. If Harri wasn’t involved, if Voldemort didn’t know who she was, was it possible that none of this would have happened?

No. She had known that Voldemort was her soulmate from the moment she had looked at her wrist. Tom Riddle would have gotten that information from her whether she had spoken to Voldemort when retrieving the stone or not. In the end, Harri’s choices hadn’t mattered all that much. The choices of Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy were the ones that had so radically changed her life. 

“What are you brewing?” Harri asked, instead of expressing all of her complicated thoughts and feelings. Snape would pull out books on post-trauma meditation. 

“A potion for healing mental damage sustained from long term exposure to dark magic,” Snape said with a grimace. “For Sirius Black.” 

* * *

Grimmauld Place was the sort of spooky home that no child should grow up in. 

The house had gloomy dark rooms, cavernous rough stone walls, and moth-eaten curtains. It had clearly once been a very grand house, but it was in dire need of cleaning. It was full of dirt and grime, horrific looking portraits (and mounted houself heads), and had dark items laid out casually.

Dumbledore told her the location so she could floo to it the night before her birthday. Snape had grimaced unhappily as he packed up the potions kit Harri was supposed to bring along to Sirius. 

“None of this is poison, is it?” Harri asked uneasily, taking in Snape’s dark expression. If anything her question made him look angrier.

“I won’t have you calling into question my integrity as a Potions Master,” he snapped, handing her the leather satchel. 

“Touchy, Touchy,” Harri said, hands up. “You just look like you’d rather murder my Godfather than help him.”

“Oh, I would,” said Snape. “That good for nothing. You’ll see. You’ll see what he really is after twenty-four hours. Then you’ll want nothing more to do with that arse.” 

“Hmm…” Harri had hummed noncommittally. She certainly hoped not. She would like to like her Godfather. 

One short floo later, and she was spinning into the filthy grate at number 12. 

“Harri!” came the excited voice of Remus Lupin. 

“Hello,” Harri said uncertainly as she got to her feet. Black was standing there beside Remus, but didn’t immediately say anything. He was wearing clean clothes now. His hair was washed and cut. It looked like he had put on weight over the last two months, and he didn’t look like a walking skeleton anymore. His teeth, formally rotted, were now the perfectly straight and pristinely white teeth typical of magic users. 

He would almost look handsome if it weren’t for his haunted eyes with dark circles under them. 

“Harri,” Black said at last. “I’m so glad you’re here,” and he gave a charming smile that was all the roguish charm Remus had described. Harri laughed.

“Me too,” she said happily, walking further into the musty room. 

Remus and Sirius had cleaned up a bedroom for her. Cleaning bedrooms had been the first priority when they had moved in, the second had been the kitchen. 

“We’re onto the drawing-room now,” said Remus. “Yesterday we found doxies everywhere and nest od dead puffskins under the sofa.” 

“Why is everything so…” Harri trialed off, not wanting to sound rude about the house. 

“Disgusting?” Sirius offered up. “That would be Kreacher.”

“Who?”

“My mum’s batty old houself. He’s been talking to her portrait for the last ten years and gone right bonkers.”

“Your mum’s portrait?”

“Would you like to meet her?” There was a gleam to Sirius’ eyes that told Harri, no, she probably did not.

“No,” Remus said sharply. “Harri doesn’t need to hear all that.” 

“Hear all what?”

“Mrs. Black had set opinions about what type of person should be in her house. She likes to shout about it if her portrait is disturbed.” Oh. Well no, she didn’t need to hear all that. 

“Moving on,” said Remus, giving Sirius a firm look, “We were working on what to do for your birthday.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Harri said quickly. “I just thought it would be nice to see you both.”

“Don’t be silly, Harri,” Sirius said, “Birthdays are meant to be celebrated. You should have seen your first birthday party. Lily had it at Headquarters, the whole Order was there. More food than we could eat, plenty of good firewhisky, not to mention the cake!”

“I- I had a birthday party?” Harri asked, feeling awed. “Really?”

“Of course you did!” Black continued on bombastically, “Then your dad and I set off a bunch of fireworks. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and the anti-muggle shields were enough to use some really wild ones. You were so little though, Lily said you fell asleep halfway through.” 

“That sounds brilliant,” Harri said softly. 

“And we’re sorry to do something quite so grand tomorrow,” Remus explained. 

“What with my criminal status, it’s probably best not to make a scene,” agreed Sirius. 

“You mentioned last summer that you like to bake,” continued Remus, “and you’re free to say no, Harri. What we thought we could do was make a birthday cake, all together. I know how to cook,”

“And I certainly don’t,” said Sirius gamely, “therefore it will be a good time. Everyone likes to watch me not know how to do things.” 

“That’s because you’re ridiculous,” said Remus with a snort. 

“That sounds great,” Harri said with a smile. “Yes, I’d like that. I only remember a birthday cake Hagrid brought me when I got my letter, but I had to help make Dudley’s every year.”

“That won’t bring up bad memories, will it?” Remus asked.

“No,” Harri said, shaking her head. “The Dursleys always had to give me a slice of cake or it made them look bad. It was the only good thing about Dudley’s birthday. Only this year I can make the cake I like!”

Baking with Sirius was every bit as big of a mess as Harri thought it would be, which of course made it fantastic. Somehow Remus had known that laughter was the tonic to the soul. Well, laughter and chocolate.

 

The next morning Harri received post, three letters and packages. 

Over the last month, she had written to all of her friends to assure them that she was alright. Obviously Ron, Hermione, and Neville, but also Lavender and Parvati. The Daily Prophet had reported her return on the front page (will a glowing report that Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore and defeated the remnants of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s spirit to save her), so there wasn’t a need to write anyone else. 

Harri had almost written to Ginny Weasley but felt that their conversation was one to be had in person. In her letter to Ron, Harri had specifically asked him to let Ginny know that she wanted to talk as soon as they were back at Hogwarts. 

The first parcel she opened was from Neville. His letter was cheerful, mostly about the success he had had in improving his greenhouse over the last two weeks. But he also included the clippings of new hybrid that might be useful in regenerative muscle therapy. 

_‘... I’ve sent the first spare I’ve cultivated to St. Mungos, but I thought you might like to try your hand with a few of these clippings.’_

It was intriguing. Snape had even mentioned letting Harri develop her own project. This could be a good starting place.

Hermione’s letter was sent from France. She was on holiday with her parents for the last week of July, then she would be meeting Harri back at Hogwarts come August 3rd. The Professors would be there to help the petrified students keep up with missed practical school work.

_Dear Harri,_

_I’m on holiday in France at the moment, but we brought along my parent’s owl so that I could send this off to get to you on your birthday. It should arrive on time, and I specifically let her know that July 31st was the date we were aiming for!_

_I know I could have waited a few more days, but it is ever so nice to get a gift on your birthday I think. Did you see the picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he’s learning loads. I’m really jealous- the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating._

_There’s some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I’ve rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I’ve found out. I hope it’s not too long- it’s two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for._

_Ron says he’s going to be in London in the last week of August. We should go along then too. Do you think Snape will let us? I really hope we can, I’d like to see Ron and Neville again. I’ll see you at Hogwarts soon!_

_With Love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Ron says Percy’s Head Boy. I’ll bet Percy’s really pleased. Ron doesn’t seem too happy about it._

Harri laughed as she put Hermione’s letter aside and picked up her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, she was sure it would be a large book full of very difficult spells- but it wasn’t. Her heart gave a huge bound as she ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading _Broomstick Servicing Kit._

“Do you like to fly?” Sirius asked.

“Love to!” Harri exclaimed. “I don’t necessarily like to play Quidditch, but it gives me an excuse to get on the pitch all the time. So it’s worth it.”

“Your dad liked to play,” Sirius said. “I’m sure Remus has told you. He was a great Chaser. Bit of a nutter about it. Sometimes it was all he could talk about.” 

“Yeah,” Harri said with a grin. “My Captain, Oliver Wood, he’s like that. Gryffindor hasn’t won the cup in a few years now, but he acts like it’s been a century!”

“What else then?” Remus asked, eyeing the other gift. “You’ve got some serious presents, Harri. Plant clippings and Broomstick Servicing Kit. Lily used to give gifts like that,” Remus said aside to Sirius.  

“Ron won’t,” Harri assured happily. “It will be cheap and whimsical.”

Ron’s letter included a clipping from the Daily Prophet. Harri had already seen it, but she showed it to Remus and Sirius so that they could see the picture of her friend.

“See, this is Ron,” she said, pointing out her tall and gangling friend. Scabbers was perched on his shoulder, and his arm was around Ginny. Ginny looked a bit happier. 

Harri handed the picture to Sirius, and picked up Ron’s letter and unfolded it.  Egypt did sound fascinating. She’d like to go once she actually knew a little bit about Runes. Voldemort had only given her advanced books to read, all of which had been over her head. 

Harri now turned to her present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. A Pocket Sneakoscope, according to Ron. 

“Well, look at this. Is this irreverent enough for you two?” she asked, showing it to them. 

Neither Sirius or Remus looked up from the picture Sirius was still holding. Both of them look shocked.

“Is that?” Remus said at last.

“It has to be,” Sirius replied.

“What?” Harri asked, confused. 

“He’s at Hogwarts,” Sirius breathed.

“Who’s at Hogwarts? Ron?”

“Peter,” Remus answered, and Black turned the picture around and pointed at… Scabbers?


	8. Wormtail

“HARRI!” 

There was a blur of curly hair running straight at her. Harri barely had time to blink before she was caught up in a vice-like hug courtesy of Hermione Granger. 

Harri clung tightly to Hermione, feeling for all the world like everything would be _alright_ now. If they were together it would be. Dark Lords, Basilisks, and impossible riddles couldn’t separate them. Nothing could. 

There was a good-natured cough from behind them, as Remus Lupin cleared his throat. Harri reluctantly loosened her grip on Hermione. She had gotten so used to Hermione’s glassy eyes that she had forgotten the way they looked full of life. Harri’s throat tightened, and she had to swallow several times. 

“We have to find Professor Dumbledore,” Harri said at last, pulling away from Hermione. 

“You do?” Hermione asked, looking between Harri and Lupin. 

“It’s about…” Harri trailed off but gave Hermione a meaningful look.

Hermione’s eyes lit with understanding, and she nodded. “Is it good news?”

“I think so,”  Harri told her softly. “I’ll find you after we talk.”

She led Remus to Dumbledore's office. He had insisted on apparition. Apparently, Dumbledore would have set his floo so that only Harri could go all the way through, and this was a conversation Remus wanted to have in person, not as a floating head in a fire grate. 

‘ _Chocolate Frogs,’_ said Harri to the gargoyle, and the two headed up the staircase. Remus knocked, but didn’t wait for Dumbledore to bid them enter before he was opening the door. 

“Pettigrew,” Remus said before Dumbledore could open his mouth. “Pettigrew is alive. We found him.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore asked, barely having time to get the word out before Remus continued. 

“Yes! He’s been with the Weasleys the whole time!” He took the newspaper clipping out from inside his robe and slapped it onto Dumbledore’s desk.

Dumbledore looked closely at the photo. “Now,” he began, “I am aware that Messers Black, Potter, and Pettigrew became animagi while in Hogwarts. You and Mr. Black have explained that side of the story, but you cannot mean to say that any rat in a photo with a wizarding family is proof that it is Pettigrew?” Dumbledore stared hard at the picture. “Tell me why you think it is Peter Pettigrew?”

“He’s missing a toe,” Lupin explained, pointing it out in the photo. “See, here.” 

“And all they found of young Mr. Pettigrew was a finger,” Dumbledore said softly. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes, that exactly!” Remus exclaimed almost manically. 

“They’ve been like that since last night, Professor,” Harri said cheekily with a smile. “It means Sirius can be free! Isn’t it the best stroke of good luck you’ve ever heard of?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Dumbledore said still squinting at the photo. “If we’re going to do this right it needs to be the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that takes him in. Assuming that it really is Peter Pettigrew.”

“Ron has had that rat for three years,” Harri said, “And Percy had the rat before that. Have you ever heard of a rat living longer than three years, Professor?”

“I suppose not,” Dumbledore conceded. “As unlikely as it seems… but yes, I suppose Peter would want to be with a Wizarding family, wouldn’t he? To keep an ear to the ground. A long-lived rat that happens to be missing a toe-”

“In exactly the right spot! It’s the same finger that Peter cut off, even!” Remus insisted. 

“Yes… I’ll go over to the Ministry today and speak to Amelia. Then we’ll start to get this processed. Peter is such a small animagus, and he’s jumpy now with Sirius on the loose… He could escape easily if we do not tread quietly and quickly.” 

“But you will get him, sir?” Harri asked.

“We can certainly hope,” Dumbledore replied, brow furrowed in thought. 

* * *

That night Harri tossed and turned, feeling too hot to fall asleep. Her entire body felt like it was burning, but her feet were worst of all. She kicked them out from under the covers but had that uncomfortable feeling one has that something in the dark might grab you by the ankle. Hermione’s soft breathing echoed through the room, and Harri tried to focus on it to the exclusion of her own discomfort. The cupboard under the stairs had sometimes been burning hot. The Dursley’s would turn off the air at night, and the stuffy cupboard could get suffocatingly hot in the summer. This was nothing to that, Harri thought as she finally drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

Her dream was just as uncomfortable.  

Was she running? Incapable of escape? It felt like she was being chased, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how to move. She was hot. Was her entire body fire? There was a feeling… it was familiar. She felt a brush against her forehead, and it soothingly cool. 

“I didn’t know it would have quite this effect,” she heard from the coolness. 

“Don’t go,” she whispered. “It’s better to not burn.”

There was lilt of amusement to the voice, “You won’t thank me in the morning when you understand.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, trying to move further into the cool (mist?). 

“It’s just a test,” the voice reassured (why did it need to be reassuring?). “I’m not going to do this often, but I imagine the effects will be the same each time. At least until…” the voice trailed off. 

“I’m trying to sleep,” Harri said grumpily. “I want to be rested for tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?”

“They’re going to catch him,” she muttered, eyes sealed shut. If he would just shut up she would be able to sleep. 

“Who?” the voice asked sounding more serious. She shouldn’t tell him this, but for the life of her Harri couldn’t figure out why. 

“Pettigrew. He was in the paper.”

“Was he,” said the soothing cool, and she felt fingers running through her hair. Shocks of cold shot from her scald and down her spine, a delicious sensation that finally broke the oppressive heat.

“Yep, right on Ron’s shoulder,” the fingers paused, but then continued the stroking motion. It was so lovely, and the voice didn’t speak again. Harri drifted into true sleep at last. 

* * *

Peter hadn’t been sleeping well for the last few months. 

Despite his certainty that Sirius wouldn’t know where he was, he still found himself jerking awake at odd hours. Sirius’ grim and determined look had spelled certain death on that Samhain night of 1981. Sirius couldn’t understand- could never understand- how it felt to be confronted with the Dark Lord. The allure and power was more than Peter could handle. 

James and Sirius had always been so perfect. Never a hint of the Dark on them. They had never struggled with the call of Dark Magic, had never felt the slightest itch or draw to the Dark Lord. Not like Peter had. Not like Remus had.

At first, Peter had thought that Remus was someone he could truly talk to. They were friends, Peter had worked hard and become an animagus for him! That should have counted for something. All he had gotten from Remus was distrust and a brush off. Those were dark days, after all. That decade had made it so no one knew who to trust, whether it be friends, lovers, or family. Anyone could be on the opposite side of a war that was destroying the Wizarding World. 

Brush offs were all Peter ever got from his friends. Too weak to be seen as a threat. Too accommodating to be seen as worth anyone's time. Someone better suited to being a background character in their own life. 

When Lily and James had made him, _him_ , their secret keeper instead of Sirius, at first Peter had felt honored. They did trust him. They did believe that Peter would stand by them no matter what. The exhilaration had faded quickly.  They wanted Peter because everyone thought it was Sirius. It was Sirius who was Harriet’s godfather. It was Sirius who James and Lily trusted more than anyone. Sirius was the trusted decoy and Peter- Peter was the one no one would think of.

No one ever thought of Peter Pettigrew. 

Certainly, they didn’t think of him enough to worry that he would betray them. So he had. 

It hadn’t been all at once. Small bits of information to the Dark Side with a promise of clemency if the war should go the other way. Then, as it was starting to look like the Dark Lord would be victorious, more and more information. Locations of safe houses. Names of those who were members of the Order. Who would be vulnerable to conversion to the Dark. Peter was a rat, he could crawl through the halls and rooms of Headquarters and _listen._ Peter knew who fretted about the call of the Dark (and it wasn’t long until they fell to the Dark Lord too).

He didn’t give up Lily and James. Not for a long time. He had never planned to do it (no one ever plans to betray their friends). Until it was happening. There hadn’t been anger or resentment at the time. No great tipping point in his relationship that made it finally palatable after a year of keeping the secret locked tight in his head.  

At the time all he had thought about was little Harriet. Hair just coming in the same shade of red as Lily’s. Eyes like James. He had been a rat once again, hiding under the couch at Godric’s Hallow and listening to what James, Lily, and Sirius had to say.

They fretted over Remus as the spy. They worried over little Harriet. They didn’t mention Peter at all. 

He learned something new from their conversation (that they never thought of Peter was known, it was something he was long used to). They didn’t think the Dark Lord was after _them_ , he was after Harriet. 

Late that night, Peter had stood looking down at Harriet in her crib. The little girl was fast asleep. James and Lily were asleep too. He could take Harriet to the Dark Lord now. James and Lily wouldn’t have to die. Only Harriet. Was one little girl too much of a cost?

To Lily and James, it would have been. They would spend their whole lives trying to protect the little girl, but it would be for nothing in the end. 

Wouldn’t it be better for Harriet to die now? Before she knew what it was to live? Before she knew what fear was, and could die simply and unafraid. Harriet would eventually die. The Dark Lord would kill her, Peter had no doubt. 

He had reached down to the little girl, as if to touch her, but pulled back before he could. Instead, he melted into the form of a rat and left the Potter’s home. Lily and James would rather be dead than live in a world without their daughter. Sirius would call it a betrayal, but Peter had thought it a kindness. Better they should all die together, sooner rather than later. 

 

On the morning of August 2nd, 1993 Peter was enjoying a nap in the sun. He hadn’t slept well, and he was losing weight fast. The Dark Lord was defeated, or so the papers said now. The truth in that remained to be seen, a new Dark Lord should appear soon. 

Would he make a move once this new Dark Lord appeared? Peter wasn’t sure. With Black on the run, it was very possible that Peter could get found out. He had heard that the order was for Dementors to kiss on sight. If they did… well, Peter could return, couldn’t he? Could claim that he had been hiding for all these years in fear of Black escaping. 

Yes, that would be the solution. It was only a matter of time before Black was caught and kissed. Then Peter could be live free of his life as Scabbers. He certainly had liked his time with the Weasleys. Nice people. Percy had always taken care of Scabbers by the book, which had been frustrating at the time, but Ron was much more relaxed. He had let him nibble at his human food than the rat food Percy had insisted on (“Scabbers needs a balanced diet, Mum! We can’t guarantee that he’ll eat the right ratio of fruits, to vegetables, to whole grains! The rat food will make sure he’s nutritionally balanced!”). 

Perhaps he would give a special thanks to the Weasley family when he revealed himself.  Or perhaps not… perhaps they would prefer never to know that Scabbers the rat had once been a man. 

He heard the door open but didn’t open his eyes. Just Ron coming in after breakfast. 

Then-

“ _Stupefy”_

 

When Peter came too he wasn’t a rat anymore. For the first time in a very long time, he was shaped like a man. It felt uncomfortable. In the old days, he had transformed regularly, but for the last decade, he had stayed a rat nearly constantly. His skin felt overly stretched. He was horribly cold without his fur and only a ragged old robe as over. 

Standing over him was Alfred Avery and Amycus Carrow. 

“So the tip-off was right,” Carrow sneered, looking down at Peter with disgust. “Hiding with blood-traitors all these years, Pettigrew?”

“A-ah A-my-cus.” Peter stuttered. “A-and Avery, my old friends.” They had never been his friends. They had sneered at him all those years ago. Oh, how they had despised and judged him. The Dark _wanted_ spies. They also _detested_ them. 

“You’re quite lucky, Pettigrew. The Dark Lord found out you were alive before it was too late for you. When old Dumbledore sent for someone in the DMLE to take in an animagus hiding at the Weasley’s we knew to take the job,” Avery jeered. 

“Y-yes, of course. Very lucky,” Peter simpered. The Dark Lord. The new Dark Lord? Or was Voldemort not so dead? 

“We’ll have to say you got away,” continued Avery, “that you overpowered us somehow.” Both men let out sharp laughs that made Peter’s blood boil. Sneering bastards. Thinking they were better than he. Perhaps Peter hadn’t seemed like much compared to Black, Potter, and Lupin but he wasn’t _that_ weak. 

“I’m s-sure you c-c-can make it believable,” Peter stuttered out, trying to look round the clearing casually. He recognized it as just outside Ottery St. Catchpole. They hadn’t cast a strong stupefy then. Or maybe they were trying to frame Peter’s escape now. Have him act the part of overpowering strength so that they could submit memories of his escape. 

He would give them memories alright, and not fake ones either. 

Peter shakily stood. The Dark Lord was an unknown quantity, and until he could assure his position with the new Dark Lord, he wasn’t going anywhere near him. What Peter Pettigrew needed was information, and that was something that Wormtail had never had difficulty finding.

Avery and Carrow had turned to speak to each other for a moment, and Peter saw his chance. He silently turned into a rat and scurried away. He heard their shouts behind him, but a rat could hide in a treeline for weeks and never be found. 

He felt more natural in his rat form and scurried quickly away and into some brush. He then stayed perfectly still. Avery and Carrow banged around, swearing loudly as they went. Peter didn’t have to wait long, the two men gave up easily. They assumed that he would be long gone, that Peter Pettigrew didn’t know how to play the long game.

That was their mistake. Peter had lived as a rat for thirteen years, he could out-wait two Death Eaters for thirty minutes. 

When they apparated away Peter transformed back into himself. It was more difficult than he remembered to become a man again. His wand was still in the pocket of his ratty old robe, thankfully, and shakily took it in hand.

Where to apparate?

Was there anywhere in all of England that was safe? What information could he gather to ensure his safety from one side or the other? There was no easy answer, but a spot did come to mind. 

Closing his eyes and thinking firmly on his destination, Peter Pettigrew disapparated with a pop. 

* * *

The morning of August the 2nd had Harri jumping up and down at the breakfast table (if she had odd dreams the night before they seemed unimportant now). Hermione looked at her with a slight smile but didn’t comment on Harri’s excitement. Harri hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything other than Sirius being potentially free since the night before. The only damper on her mood came when Hermione asked, “Do you want Sirius to become your guardian if he’s cleared of all charges?” 

The answer to that question was a complicated one… but also very simple. 

“No,” was Harri’s immediate response. There was a loyalty to Snape that had developed that Harri didn’t fully understand. Yes, she wanted to be close to Sirius and Remus. Yes, she wanted to spend time with them. 

But… Hogwarts was her home. Not Grimmauld Place. Spinner’s End, which she had spent precious little time, even had a certain appeal to Harri. Snape had taken her for a walk around the neighborhood where her mother had lived. There was something so undeniably muggle about Cokeworth and Severus Snape. There was a part of Harri, and a part of her mother, that lived in the Muggle cracks of Severus Snape. A Muggle upbringing, Harri was starting to realize, was something that a witch or wizard could never escape. There were mannerisms, turns of phrase, and simple ways of doing things that could be spotted easily if you knew how to look (Even the Dark Lord brewed his tea instead of using a wand).

So yes, she did want to spend time with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. She also wanted to spend time with Severus Snape. 

“Are things… alright between you and Professor Snape, Harri?” Hermione asked when Harri fell silent, contemplating just _why_ she wanted to stay with Snape.

“Things are… complicated, Hermione. Very complicated. In fact-” How did Harri explain it? What did Hermione know? She knew Harri had been possessed by the Spirit of Lord Voldemort. She knew that Harri had been taken to Voldemort. She had been told that Snape and Dumbledore had fought that Spirit and killed off the Dark Lord at last. There was no room to discuss magical contracts and a looming feeling of dread. 

“In fact?” Hermione pressed. 

“In fact, Snape and Black weren’t friends at all. So I don’t know how they’re going to get on. They’ll just have to, I suppose,” Harri supplied, sounding more flippant than she felt. 

“Well, I’m sure they’re very different people than they were at school,” Hermione supplied helpfully. “What with Black spending time in Azkaban and Snape spending so much time with you.”

“Hermione!” Harri exclaimed in fake offense. “Are you trying to say that spending time with me is the same as torture by Dementors?”

“Well… maybe a bit,” Hermione said with a slight twitch of the lips. 

“I’ll have you know,” Harri said, poking Hermione’s side where she knew a ticklish spot lurked, “That I am a right delight to be around!”

Hermione let out an unwilling peal of laughter, “Harri! No!” 

“Admit it! I am delightful for you to be around. A real joy,” she found the spot again and Hermione let out a joked snort. 

“Never,” Hermione gasped, then she grabbed her bag that was resting on top of the Gryffindor table, and before Harri could strike again started sprinting towards the library.

“You won’t get away that easy!” Harri called after her, also grabbing her bag and giving chase after Hermione who she could hear laughing up ahead. Harri was much faster than Hermione and easily caught up with her. She continued to poke and prod at her friend, sending Hermione into hysterics. 

Their game of chase ended outside the library, both girls gasping for air, leaned against the corridor wall.  “I suppose,” Hermione said through gasping breaths, “that you’re tolerable.” 

“Just tolerable?” Harri asked.

“But certainly not enough to tempt me,” Hermione added with imperium. 

Harri snorted. “Pride and Prejudice? You’re certainly more of an Elizabeth than I am.”

“You’ve read it?” Hermione asked with a pleased smile. “I always forget that you like to read novels.” 

“Just because I don’t pour over theoretical books like you do! You always act like I can’t read,” Harri replied jovially, sticking her tongue out.

“Oh,” Hermione said, color draining from her face. “I’m sorry, Harri.”

“No, no not like that, Hermione!” Harri quickly clarified. “I don’t mind it. I could never keep up with you.” 

“But I’ve offended you, haven’t I? I always say the wrong thing,” and Hermione sounded quite gloomy about it. 

“No, you don’t, Hermione. I don’t care if you make jabs about my liking novels. How could that offend? You’re… well, you’re _you_. I don’t expect I’ll ever be interested in any magical theories the way you are. And that’s okay. I like potions and I think I’ll like runes. I’m happy to like what I like. You should like what you like too.”

“Harri you always simplify it too much,” Hermione said, sliding down the wall and leaning her head against it, knees pulled up to her face. “You should be offended, I don’t know why you aren’t.”

“Because I don’t care about those sorts of things,” Harri supplied, sliding down next to Hermione. “Of course you drive me mad sometimes Hermione. But I don’t want you to stop being yourself.” 

“I just can't stop messing up! Half the trouble you got into last year was because I didn’t go to a teacher when I should have,” Hermione exclaimed suddenly. 

“What?” Harri asked, trying to follow Hermione’s logic. 

“I was so certain that I knew what to do! That I could find the Diary and get it to a teacher. Draco wouldn’t give any proof if we went to a teacher, so I had to find something. But then I got petrified- Ron and Neville told me what they let Malfoy do to you in front of the whole school! All because I did it wrong!” 

“Hermione, wait-”

“So how can you like anything about me, Harri, when it’s my fault that you got kidnapped?”

“No, it’s not!” Harri insisted, but Hermione was not anywhere near stopping.

“All because I listened to Draco Malfoy. I wanted him to be nice and kind. I wanted to believe him, all because he was my soulmate. But none of that mattered, did it? He still chose his family over the right thing. I was petrified for a whole bloody school year, and you! You could have died, Harri-”

Harri grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. They were just two girls, out of breath, on the floor. 

“It all feels too big sometimes, doesn't it,” Harri said softly. 

“What does?” Hermione asked, clutching Harri tightly.

“Everything.” 


	9. With a Little Help from my Friends

It was Snape who haltingly let Harri know that Pettigrew had escaped.

Hermione was at her Transfiguration Practical on the morning of the 2nd. They were exactly four weeks from the start of term, and Hermione would spend the first getting assessed by each professor. Hermione was hopeful that Charms and Transfiguration would need little help. Unfortunately, Herbology and Potions both required hands-on study and would take up most of her time. Defense, unfortunately for everyone, had been such a disaster the year before that there was no practical study to take 

Left with nothing to do for the next two hours, Harri had wandered down to the Potion’s Lab to see if she could get a start on the first few brews the third years would be taking on. Generally agreed to be the best at potions in their year, Harri had started to brew with Neville to prevent any accidents. It helped if Harri knew the potion backward and forwards so that she could guide Neville through. Explosions were down, as was Neville’s anxiety (the general cause of the explosions). Snape, who loathed dangerous mistakes, would hover over Neville to try and prevent them. Snape’s hovering increased Neville’s anxiety, and thus his mistakes. With Harri there to help Neville, Snape tended to focus on other students.  

Harri met the news of Pettigrew’s escape with as straight a face as possible, but her insides felt cold. 

The dream- the one she had not given much thought to- now seemed very important. The burning hot feeling that had faded into cool comfort as the voice had… stroked her hair? The voice had been familiar, hadn’t it? And she had _told_ the voice that Peter Pettigrew was at the Weasley’s. 

“I had a dream,” Harri whispered unhappily. “I think it was him.” 

A sharp look twisted Snape’s face into a grimace. “You shared a dream with the Dark Lord?” 

“I-” Harri looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching in frustration. “I must have. How can he do that? That isn’t normal, is it? To share dreams with someone even if they are your…. Whatever we are.” 

“No. That isn’t an ability of soulmates. Though you and the Dark Lord do share a- a bond, Harriet.” 

The realization hit her, “He used my blood in his resurrection!” If Snape nodded a little too quickly in agreement, Harri didn’t notice. 

“What exactly did you say to the Dark Lord, Harriet?” Snape asked. 

“Not much, I was too tired to even realize it was him. Everything was so hot, I felt like I was burning up even before I fell asleep.” 

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he contemplated Harri carefully. “In the future, if you feel that same feeling, you should implement Occlomecy- if you can that is. We will work on it.” 

“We will?” Harri asked uneasily. On one hand, she didn’t want the Dark Lord in her head. On the other hand, she didn’t really want to give up all of her Friday nights to Snape again. Between new classes, Quidditch, and spending time with her friends it didn’t look like Harri would have much time for sleep. “Maybe we can meet once a month? I thought maybe this year we could take it a bit easy. Adjusting to new classes and all.”

Snape frowned sourly. “The purpose of your education at Hogwarts is not to be an idle lump. You have every promise in the craft of potions. Your Friday nights will still be spent here, Harriet.” 

“That isn’t fair! No other students have to do this!”

“No other students have a Dark Lord invading their dreams. Have a care, Harriet! Stop acting like a child.”

“Well, aren’t you the one always saying that I am a child? That I’m too young to understand ANYTHING?”

“You are thirteen,” Snape said softly. It was his most dangerous tone of voice. “The Dark Lord has returned and we are losing time quickly, Harriet. You no longer have the luxury of frivolity.”

Harri took a deep and calming breath and tried to clear her mind. Snape did have a point. Maybe she was being childish. But Yggdrasil help her, she wanted to be a bit childish. She wanted to spend mindless hours with Ron and Neville playing chess and exploding snap while Hermione nagged at them to do their homework. She didn’t want to think about Dark Lords or higher magic. Couldn’t she just pretend…

Well no, she couldn’t. Voldemort was the one who had gotten Pettigrew free. He had used Harri’s mind to do it. Voldemort held the key to freeing Sirius Black. If Harri was ever going to help Sirius she needed to work hard. Sirius had suffered for twelve years, surely Harri could study a bit harder and hopefully do _something_ to help him. 

At the very least, she could learn how to keep Voldemort out. 

“Fridays, fine,” she said, not meeting Snape’s eyes. She felt churlish. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly. 

“I’m sorry, Harriet, but you need to learn. You’ve said you feel powerless. This is the solution. If you work hard you won’t stay powerless. You’ll be a force in your own right.”

Harri shrugged. “I guess I can’t have it both ways,” she mumbled. “I can’t demand to be treated as an adult and then not put in the work.”  

Snape squeezed her shoulder again. Harri finally looked up and gave a weak smile. “I should probably go, Hermione is getting out her Transfiguration practical soon. We’re going to study before lunch.” 

“If there is one thing I can say about Miss. Granger, it is that she’s a good influence on your study habits. Perhaps even worth grading papers that are three feet longer than requested.”

He gave Harri a meaningful look as if she could somehow stop Hermione. Harri opened her arms wide as if to say ‘Who me?’

* * *

Harri walked down to the Library to meet Snape and a reporter for the Daily Prophet about two weeks later. Harri had known the meeting with a reporter was coming. Voldemort had required a public statement from her that he was defeated. Dumbledore had told her the time and place. Snape had even signed a consent form. 

With some difficulty, Harri was trying to organize her mind. The truth, dreadful thing that it was, had to be hidden from the reporter. It had to be whatever version of the truth that Voldemort had demanded spun. 

No, she hadn’t seen what had happened between Dumbledore and the Spirit. Snape had given her a portkey the moment he had been able. 

Yes, she was relieved that Voldemort was finally gone.

No, she didn’t know what the spirit had wanted from her. And no, it hadn’t specifically tried to harm her beyond keeping her at the camp in Albania. 

No, she wasn’t sure what the Dark Object that held the Heir of Slytherin had been. Yes, it had been a part of Voldemort. 

Yes, she was glad to be home.

And (under heavy protest from Snape)… No, she wasn’t worried about Sirius Black.  

That one was sure to get a big reaction from the reporter if asked. It wasn’t like Harri could pull out some form of proof that he was innocent. No secret documents from her parents that would point to his innocence. 

All she had was… ‘He’s my Godfather. If he wanted to find me, he could. It would go against his magic to bring me any harm’.

What a mess it all was. All lies that she found difficult to swallow. But necessary lies, to ensure that Voldemort didn’t go about starting another war. She would lie until her lips turned blue if it meant maintaining peace. 

Most of the important people knew the truth. Sirius and Remus knew. They had been involved in her rescue, and it had been Sirius who had used his blood to track her to the London hotel. Hermione must know a good deal of the truth as well. She had told Harri carefully that, “Dumbledore made me promise not to talk about what happened, and I should think that’s as good a reason as any, Harri!”

Hermione must know some version of the truth, but Harri had no idea to what extent. She really needed to talk to Dumbledore to straighten who knew what and how much. She didn’t want to slip up and had thus kept her mouth mostly shut on the whole incident.  With the interview, it would soon become clear to Hermione, and maybe a few others, that Harri wasn’t being entirely truthful about what happened with Voldemort in Albania. 

Snape was waiting in the library with a witch in magenta robe. She was talking to Snape very quickly, using a lot of hand gestures. Snape looked very uncomfortable, his sneer firmly in place. 

“Ah, Harriet,” Snape said when he spotted Harri. The woman stopped talking and looked at Harri like she was a bug under a microscope. 

“This is Rita Skeeter,” Snape explained, saying the woman’s name like it was a very dreadful thing. “She’s going to be doing the small piece on your capture.” 

“Maybe not _that_ small, Severus,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harri.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails painted crimson. 

The nails, Harri knew from Lavender, were very much in style. Her curls were too rigid because they were spelled to stay in place even with magical intervention (like a potion or charm). Was Rita Skeeter worried that someone was going to hex her hair?

“Yes, Harriet Potter! I’m so glad to have this opportunity!” she said with a sharp-toothed grin. “You won’t mind Harriet if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to your normally…”

“No,” Snape said firmly before Harri could answer. “Those things are notorious for misquoting.” 

Her sharp grin fell slightly, but she recovered quickly enough. “Over here, Harriet dear,” she said, gesturing to a small table that had been set up with only two seats. Snape would have to stand. 

Rita sat and opened her crocodile skin bag and pulled out parchment and a quill. Harri cautiously stepped forward and sat down awkwardly at the table. 

“So, Harriet…. What was it like to be kidnapped by the Dark Lord?”

Well, she certainly jumped in fast. “It was- er- not pleasant?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Skeeter, looking deeply sympathetic, “but it must have been quite the adventure. A young girl int the forests of Albania?”

“Well… the Heir of Slytherin was a part of Vol- sorry, the Dark Lord’s soul. It came to life and took me to Albania. Once there I didn’t really see it or the Dark Lord very often.”

“You must have been so relieved then, for Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape here to rescue you.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Did you see the altercation? Some of our readers are amazed that there was any Dark Lord left to fight. Seeing as you already finished the job.” Her eyes flicked up to Harri’s scar. She wished that she had bangs to flatten over it.

“Professor Snape gave me a portkey as soon as he could. I didn’t get to see the fight.”

“How disappointing,” Skeeter said, before continuing, “for our readers that is. A young girl like you, alone and scared. It was too much for you?”

“Harriet was very brave,” Snape interjected coldly. 

Rita Skeeter ignored him. “Why didn’t you try to escape, Harriet?”

“I-” how much of the truth was she supposed to give here? “Well- I- I wasn’t exactly able to. There were wards. I couldn’t get through them.” That was close, wasn’t it? A Captivus Curse worked a bit like wards… except they didn’t. Oh, she wasn’t a very good liar. 

“Do you remember your parents at all?” Rita Skeeter asked, changing the subject completely.

“That isn’t up for discussion,” Snape interjected. 

“No. But I have pictures from their old school friends,” Harri said at nearly the same time. 

“You must have pictures of Sirius Black as well.”

“I do.” 

“How does it make you feel? To know that Sirius Black has escaped.” 

“I think that he was never given a trial. He’s my Godfather, you know. From what I’ve read it would be very difficult for him to betray my family under that kind of magical relationship. I’d be curious to know if there is more to the story.”

Rita was writing very fast, a sharp look of glee in her eye. Snape looked stony. 

Harri stayed silent, watching her scribble. Was this leveraging power? How was to say how the Daily Prophet was going to spin that statement. 

“Have you heard about the new Dark Lord?” Rita asked her at last. 

“Not much,” Harri said, which was true. She had done her best to avoid the news. 

“He’s an English wizard raised in Germany. A relative of the Peverell family.”

“We must be cousins,” Harri said lightly, “my Muggle peerage is tied to the Peverell family.” Again Skeeter scribbled, but this time she did so without looking away from Harri. 

“Yes, it seems our last new _leaders_ have been linked to that old family. Did you know that the last Dark Lord was a relative of the Gaunts? Or that Dumbledore’s family is linked to Godric’s Hollow, much like your own?”

“What an odd connection. I’ve heard all the old Wizarding Families are related. I think Draco Malfoy is a third cousin of mine, for example.” She could still see that family tree in Grimwauld Place. 

“There have long been rumors that the reason you were able to defeat the Dark Lord as a baby was because you were very magically powerful. That you might even be,” she dropped her voice, “Dumbledore’s successor. And I’ve heard tell that you’ve been going with Dumbledore-”

“That is not a part of this interview,” Snape said firmly. 

“I should think the world needs to know if Harriet Potter is the next-”

Snape cut her off again. “Harriet Potter is a minor. She is under no obligation to speak to the press. Guardians of minors can sue if libelous information is printed about them.” His sneer was firmly in place. 

Rita Skeeter sat frozen, but her own sharp smile was still fixed. She finally looked away from Snape. “I’m sure I have what I need,” she said at last. “It was so nice to meet you, Harriet. I look forward to future interviews.”

Harri’s stomach twisted, and she had a feeling the article was not going to be a flattering one.

* * *

When Hermione was at last caught up two days before term started, the two girls, at last, had a serious conversation about the coming year’s classes.

“I don’t know how they are expecting me to choose,” Hermione said miserably. “I want to take all of it!”

“I understand,” Harri said in echoed frustration. “I want to take Care of Magical Creatures but over the summer runes kept coming up. I was thinking I could study on my own, but I keep getting confused.” 

“At least you’ve had time to study it!” Hermione exclaimed. “Here I’m having to choose so last minute.”

“Well, the first choice is easy, Hermione,” Harri insisted. “You don’t need to take Muggle Studies. And I know for a fact you think Divination is all rot. That only leaves Arithmancy. We can take that together.”

“But it’s only rot when it’s coming from Lavender and Parvati,” Hermione insisted. “From a real witch, it’s sure to be better. I wonder if there is a relation to Arithmancy? Looking at magical lay lines to determine future events!”

Thinking of what Fred Weasley had told her about Professor Trelawney, Harri hid a smile.

“And why do you think you need to take Muggle Studies?” Harri asked. Professor Burbage was known for being a very kind witch, but Hermione was MUGGLE BORN. It would be ridiculous. 

“Don’t you want to know what they’re learning about us?” Hermione asked breathlessly. “Don’t you want to see what the gaps in knowledge are? There are so many misunderstandings in the wizarding world about Muggles. What if it all starts from a bungled class?”

“I think it starts from making students choose between three different classes,” Harri mused. “I mean, Arithmancy is for the serious-minded students. Divination is for people who want a fun class. Who is left to take Muggle Studies? Muggleborns looking for an easy class or witches already interested in muggle things.”

Hermione sniffed, “Well judging from Arthur Weasley’s understanding- and he’s the Head of the Department!- it should be a mandatory class!”

“It isn’t though. And you don’t need to take it.”

“Well, I think I’ll just talk to McGonagall about it. Maybe she can do something?” 

“Maybe. I should talk to her too. I think I’m going to switch to Runes. Magical Creatures would be so fun, and I think I would maybe like to be a Magizoologist, but with all the instruction I get from Snape I don’t know if I’ll need to take the class to get an OWL.” 

“I’m so jealous. I learned so much this summer, and so quickly too! Think how far we could get with more individualized instruction.” 

“So Arithmancy and Runes?” Harri asked Hermione hopefully. Maybe she would concede-

“No. I want to take them all. McGonagall must know of a way! I can’t be the first student to want to take multiple classes!”

“Hermione, you can’t be in two places at once, let alone three!”

* * *

Harry hadn’t been allowed to meet with Ron and Neville in Diagon Alley. With the escape of Sirius Black, Dementors had been stationed all around Hogwarts at the insistence of the Ministry. It had been requested that Harri be kept within the bounds of Hogwarts until Black was caught.

Hermione had gone alone and returned with their school books and a large ginger tabby. Gulliver instantly fell in love and began to follow Hermione’s Crookshanks everywhere. Crookshanks did not like Gulliver, and often tried to run away. It was a certain amount of resignation that led to the two cats being constantly in each other’s company. 

.

Harri and Hermione waited anxiously in the Entrance Hall on September 1st. Neither had seen Ron and Neville all summer, and their duo was anxious to become a quartet again. It ended up being Malfoy and his gang who entered the Great Hall first.

“Oye, Granger! Did they have to hold you back? Would serve you right,” shouted Pansy Parkinson with a snigger, looking hopefully at Malfoy.

“Turns out I don’t need a full school year to learn the curriculum,” Hermione replied primly. Harri wasn’t imagining it, Malfoy smirked at Hermione’s dig. The two made eye contact and… well, it wasn’t glares and hatred.

This was new. 

Last Hermione had said she was frustrated with Malfoy for choosing his family over all the Muggleborns in the school. Was he turning a new

“It’s the She-Weasel!” Malfoy jeered suddenly, “I heard you nearly fainted!” Into the hall came Neville, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny looked very pale. 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

“Did you actually faint then, Weasley?” said Malfoy loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you too?”

“There was a dementor on the train?” Hermione said, looking shocked.

Neville had come level with them and looked rather pale himself. “It was horrible. It was like I’d never be happy again.”

“Those things shouldn’t be near children!” Harri exclaimed in shock. 

“I still feel so cold,” Ginny whispered. Her voice was very hoarse. “I could hear…” she trailed off. Harri didn’t need to be told what Ginny had heard. Instead, hesitantly in case Ginny wanted to pull away, Harri wrapped her arms around the other girl and hugged her.

Ginny, stiff and cold, didn’t hug her back at first. Slowly her arms wrapped around Harri. “If you want to talk about it we can,” Harri told her too softly for anyone else to hear. 

Ginny nodded stiffly. “Yes. I’d like that. I haven’t been able to with,” she glanced over at Ron who was looking at them with a pained expression.

Ginny let go of Harri. 

“We were very lucky at Professor Lupin was the compartment,” Neville told Harri, gesturing to the sandy-haired man who had just exited the carriage. With a large black dog at his side.

Harri jumped out of her skin. “Mooney! Padfoot?” The dog barked happily and galloped over the Harri. It jumped up and began to lick her face unrestrained. 

“It’s Professor Lupin, for now, Harri,” said Lupin mildly. 

“You’re our new Defense professor?” Harri asked, giving Sirius a scratch behind the ears. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

“Language, Harri,” Lupin reminded her. 

“Well it is!” she insisted. “And you got to bring along Padfoot? That’s also brilliant.”

“He would have been lonely all alone,” Lupin replied, his lips twitching in amusement. The dog barked again.

“Harri, the feast!” Hermione called.

.  


The sorting flew by. That hat sang a different song than the one that it had during their first year, which had surprised her. 

“Welcome,” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

He paused, and Harri could see the displeasure clearly on his face.

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises- or even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and Harri and Ron glanced at each other. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I, therefore, warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors,” he said.

Percy, who was sitting a few seats down from Harri, puffed out his chest; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound. Harri noticed he looked especially long at the Ravenclaw table. 

“On a happier note,” he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.”

“First, Professor Lupin, who had kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only Neville, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harri cheered loudly. Lupin looked a bit less shabby than the last time Harri had seen him, which hopefully meant Sirius had forced him to buy some new robes.

“Look at Snape!” Ron hissed in Harri’s ear.

Snape did not look happy. Harri could guess why. It probably had something to do with he dog laying at Lupin’s feet. 

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on his teaching job in addition to his gameskeeping duties.”

Harri, Ron, Neville, and Hermione stared at one another, stunned.  Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffidnor table in particular. Harri leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

“We should have known!” Ron roared, pounding the table. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?”

Harri looked over at Hermione, confused. When they had gone to switch classes, Harri had been able to drop Care of Magical Creatures, to her own displeasure. Hermione of the other hand had been told that a special accommodation could be made. She was still taking the class. Harri hadn’t seen a biting book.

“The shop keeper belted it,” Hermione told her. “I haven't taken it out of my trunk. It’s a ghastly book.” 

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” said Dumbledore. “Let the feast begin!”

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Harri, suddenly ravenous, helped herself to everything she could reach and began to eat. 

It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. Harri, Ron, Neville, and Hermione, however, were eager for it to finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. Thye knew how much being made a teacher would mean to him. In the meantime, Harri listened to Ron tell them about the Ministry employees who had come to take his rat, of all things. 

"Can you believe it? They wanted  _Scabbers_. Thought he was an animagus."

Harri was itching to tell Ron the truth, but not now at the table. Tomorrow, hopefully, they would have time.  

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed, and they go their chance.

“Congratulations, Hagrid!” Hermione squealed as they reached the teachers' table.

“All down ter you four,” said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them. “Can’ believe it… great man, Dumbledore… came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had enough… It’s what I always wanted…”

Overcome with emotions, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed them away. 

The four joined the Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, up more and more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Before she could enter the tower, Harri felt a slight tug on her rob.

It was Ginny.

“Can we talk, Harri?” she asked.

“Yes of course!” and the two made their way into an unused classroom. 

Ginny was shaking slightly, but began quickly, “I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you Harri. I couldn’t stop the diary. Tom was too strong. I wanted to flush it away. I wanted to tell someone! But every time I tried I couldn’t.”  A sharp sob cut Ginny off before she kept going, “I wanted to tell someone. I got you in trouble. You were kidnapped. And Tom- Tom- He as You-Know-Who the whole time!”

“Ginny-”

“It was always him in my head,” she sniffed.

“He was in my head too, Ginny. He made me give the diary to you, that’s what I wanted to tell you.” Harri couldn't’ meet Ginny’s eyes. “I don’t know if you know, but Hermione was given that book by Malfoy’s dad. I was the one who picked it up. I’m the one who mingled magic with it. Then I talked to it… and I couldn’t stop him from getting information out of me. He realized that I was the one who had defeated Vol- sorry, the Dark Lord. So he made me give the diary to you so that he could use some poor first year, and then take me to the Dark Lord. It was his plan all along, and I let it happen too.” Harri’s ended bitterly.

“You didn’t have any more control than I did?” Ginny asked tearfully.

“No,” said Harri shaking her head. “No. He made me forget so I couldn’t even remember that I had the book at all. Then it was us down in the Chamber.”

Ginny sobbed again. Harri reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “It was us. And he told me that you were going to die. I tried to bargain with him, but before anything really could happen, Snape showed up. And Snape somehow killed the Basilisk and was dying. And then he wasn’t, but you were dying. And I- I had to do something. So I bargained for your life.”

“No, Harri! You didn’t.” Ginny sniffed loudly. 

“I said I’d go with him if you got to live.”

“That’s why you were gone,” Ginny said softly. “It wasn’t that he kidnapped you, it was that you- that you- you chose to go with him? For… me?”

“I’d do it again,” Harri told her firmly. “I couldn’t let you die, Ginny, when it was half my fault you were there in the first place. And… well, we were friends, weren’t we? Before? That summer. Then everything went wrong and you had the book. But, I like to think that maybe we can be friends again?”

“You want to be my friend, Harri? After everything?” Ginny’s ears were pink and her eyes were glassy from tears and exhaustion. It had been a horribly long day. 

“Only if you want to be mine. I would understand if you blamed me-”

Ginny threw her arms around Harri’s shoulders and hugged her tightly. “If you don’t blame me, I don’t blame you. I _know_ what it was like to have Tom in your head, Harri. But he’s gone now,” said Ginny with steel in her voice. “He’s gone, and we’re still here!”

He wasn’t gone, not really. 

“We’re still here,” Harri confirmed, hugging Ginny back just as tightly.


	10. Talons and Tea Towels

When Harri, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Pansy Parkinson, who was entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Parkinson did a ridiculous impression of weeping and there was a roar of laughter.

“Ignore her,” said Hermione quietly to Ginny. Hermione leveled a glare at Draco Malfoy, who was sitting oddly silent beside Pansy. 

“Hey, Weasley,” shrieked Parkinson, “The Dementors are coming, Weasley!”

“Get stuffed,” Ron shouted as he ushered his sister to the Gryffindor table. Ginny had gone a bit red and was clutching her wand. If Ron was to be believed, her Bat-Bogey Hex was not something to be on the receiving end of. 

Harri dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table next to George Weasley. 

“New third-year course schedules,” said George, passing them over. “What’s up with you, Gin?” he asked, looking over at his fuming sister who sat down across from Harri. 

“Parkinson,” said Ron, sitting down on George’s other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table. 

George looked up in time to see Parkinson pretending to cry again. 

“That little bint,” he cursed. “She wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment with Malfoy, didn’t she?” 

“Malfoy looked like he nearly wet himself,” agreed Fred, with a contemptuous glare at the Slytherin table. 

“I wasn’t too happy myself,” said Geroge. “They’re horrible things, those dementors…”

“Sort of freezes your insides, don’t they?” said Fred.

“Well you didn’t turn into a weeping mess on the floor, did you?” Ginny asked gloomily. 

“Ginny, I’m sure I’d react just as badly as you. If not worse,” Harri said as reassuringly as possible. “The more bad memories you have the more of a reaction a Dementor can pull out of you.” Harri could still picture clear as day Snape laying in a pool of blood down in the Chamber; begging her to run while he was dying. A chill went down her spine. 

“Anyways, we’ll see how happy Slytherin is after our first Quidditch match,” said Fred. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?”

The only time Harri and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. The day had been clouded with Hermione’s petrification. Hermione’s drawn face was the only thing Harri could remember from that chilly November day.  

Hemione placed a hand on Harri’s shoulder, causing her to jump. She handed Harri her schedule. 

“We’re starting our new subjects today,” she said happily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look- they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough _time._ ”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning?” Nine o’clock Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving- “ _look_ \- underneath that, Arithmancy, _nine o’clock_ . I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s _that good._  How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well, then-”

“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.

“But-”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.” 

There was a flutter of owls that interrupted Ron’s open-mouthed flabbergasted look. This was all the excuse Hermione needed to ignore him (though Harri agreed that he had a point. What on earth was Hermione thinking?”)

The Daily Prophet was dropped without ceremony in front of Hermione who gleefully grabbed it while munching her toast. It fell out of her mouth when she read the headline.

 

**Exclusive Interview with The-Girl-Who-Lived**

**Harriet Potter breaks her silence at last!**

by Rita Skeeter

“Oh, Harri! Look!”

On the front page was a blinking photo of Harri that she didn’t remember getting taken. She was in the library, so it must have been during the interview. She looked owlish and young, with a sneering Professor Snape hovering over her shoulder. Ron, Neville, and Harri crowded around Hermione to read-

_“It was October of 1981 when the life of every British witch or wizard was changed. It was a night shrouded in mystery, but we all knew two important things. The first, that the Dark Lord had vanished. Whether dead or with his power broken, none of us knew. The second, well the second sits before me now. We have long wondered about the mysterious young woman, Harriet Potter. As she sits before me (red hair tied back from her face and hazel eyes glinting behind glasses) all I can see is the scar. It truly is like lightening, dear readers._

_We sit down to speak in the Hogwarts Library. Harriet, thirteen, is under the guardianship of Professor Severus Snape (noted Potions Master), and the Dark man hovers over her shoulder throughout our conversation. I catch Harriet looking back nervously several times, as if afraid that her guardian will not like what she says._

_My first questions are, of course, centered around her kidnapping by the Mysterious ‘Heir of Slytherin’._

_“The Heir of Slytherin was a part of the Dark Lord’s soul. It came to life and took me to Albania,” Harriet explained. From what has been released to the public, precious little under the direction of Albus Dumbledore, the Heir of Slytherin was the mysterious force that opened the Chamber of Secrets. This resulted in the death of Ravenclaw, Penelope Clearwater as well as the petrification and hospitalization of five Hogwarts students._

_Harriet was kept in the forest unable to escape due to wards that the Dark Lord spelled. Though she didn’t see “the Dark Lord very often,” she was relieved when Professor Dumbledore and Snape rescued her. Harriet was not privy to the battle with the Dark Lord, as “Professor Snape gave [her] a portkey as soon as he could.”_

_We have all given in to speculation over these last few weeks as to whether the Dark Lord is truly gone. Thankfully, our speculation can be put to rest with the appearance of Marvolo Steward. The young German wizard, a relative of the now-extinct Peverell and Gaunt families, comes from American stock that immigrated back to the “Old World” during Grindlewald's political days. Unsurprising to this reporter, Harriet Potter, Marvolo Steward, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can all trace their family lineage to the Pervelle families. Steward and the former Dark Lord through the Cadmus branch, Potter through the Ignotus._

_It seems unlikely that Harriet Potter, native to Godric’s Hollow much like Albus Dumbledore and the Peverell Family, would be unconnected to the happenings of Dark Lords and the Lord of Light. In fact, it has long been speculated that Harriet Potter is the future Lady of Light. How else would a baby bring about, even partially, the fall of a Dark Lord?_

_According to several classmates, Harriet Potter has spent the magical high holidays (Samhain, Yule, and Beltane) with the Headmaster. While unable to get confirmation from Minster Olsen of Norway,  several attendees of the Norwegian Yule Festival did confirm that a young girl accompanied Albus Dumbledore._

_Unfortunately, my speculation was met with the harsh glare of Severus Snape. Discussion of Harriet Potter’s future place in wizarding society is apparently off the table. I would like to point out that the Wizarding Public has a right to this information, and if Harriet Potter is being groomed by Albus Dumbledore with the same intransigent policies, we the public have a right to know._

_On a slightly different note, I was very interested to know what Harriet thought of the escaped convict, Sirius Black. Black was known to be a close friend of the Potter family before his betrayal._

_When asked about her feelings on his escape she replied, “I think that he was never given a trial. He’s my Godfather, you know. From what I’ve read it would be very difficult for him to betray my family under that kind of magical relationship. I’d be curious to know if there is more to the story.”_

_Harriet makes a good point. Sirius Black, though a member of the notoriously dark Black family, was a noted Light Wizard. Going without trial was common enough under the Crouch administration of the DMLE, but should the Black capture policy be an immediate kiss? Or is this just another cover-up from Albus Dumbledore and the Fudge Administration?_

_“It was a time of war!” was the Minister’s only comment on the subject. Albus Dumbledore was asked for a statement but did not give one by the time of this article’s publication.”_

“Well it could be worse, Harri,” Neville said lightly when finished. He looked over at her with a curious look. Ron, too, squinted at Harri as if trying to see under her skin.

“Yes...” Hermione agreed, trailing off. “It’s not bad for you. She’s a bit rude about Snape and Dumbledore. And she seems very sympathetic to this Marvolo Steward character.”

“Marvolo Steward,” Harri repeated, tasting the name on her tongue. “Can a new Dark Lord be any good for Europe?”

Ron snorted. “Hopefully. The last two have been horrible. But maybe this time. Dad said they used to be a lot more apolitical. The one before Grindlewald was a Black who mostly stayed out of the way.” 

“These old wizarding families are so convoluted. She has you related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the new Dark Lord somehow,” Hermione said, brown crinkled.

“Yes, the Peverell family,” Harri agreed. 

“Are you really?” Neville asked with interest. “That’s an old family, Harri. I thought that they'd died out on the male line.”

“Yes, apparently. I’m not sure how it’s all connected. I just know that a Muggle Barony I inherited comes with the title of Lady Peverell.”

“You’re a Baroness?” Hermione squeaked.

“Well, most of the old families have muggle titles, Hermione,” Neville answered. “My Gran has the title of Countess Longbottom. It’s a good source of income.”

Ron, who had been listening with half an ear, suddenly went pink. Hermione let out a little gasp of realization.  “Ron,” she breathed, “I was told over the summer that your family’s Wizengamot seat has been tied up in court for the last two generations. Does that include…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Well, yeah. My dad isn’t able to hold his title.” Ron didn’t look up from his plate. Fred, George, and Ginny were all pointedly reading the article that Hermione has passed over to them. Harri could see that George’s neck was a bit red. 

“I don’t think there is much money involved with my Barony,” Harri told Hermione, sensing a flare of anger. Was it that the Weasly’s were poor because of a bad legal case? Or was it Wizards taking advantage of a Muggle tax base? Both had irked Harri.  “My grandfather was a Potion’s Master, and most of my family's money is self-made from his patents.” 

They were saved from more discussion by Hagrid, who had just entered the Great Hall. The Gryffindor’s greeted the large man, and Harri let the topic of the article slide. She glanced around the Hall and hoped that there weren’t too many copies of the Prophet floating around. The Slytherins were sure to have a field day…

Not to mention the implication that she was the future Lady of Light. Even if it was true, it was something Harri wanted to talk about.

* * *

Harri set out of Arithmancy alone. Hermione said something about seeing Harri there, which didn’t make any sense if she was going to the North Tower with the rest of their year group. Arithmancy was on the second floor near the Transfiguration classroom. It wasn’t a far walk, and Harri got to class a few minutes early. A few other students were already there. Since each elective was only offered once per year-group, all four houses would be sharing a class. 

Harri spotted her friends from Ravenclaw; Padme Patil, Lisa Turnip, and Mandy Brocklehurst. “Oh good!” Harri said, sitting in an empty seat beside them. 

“Isn’t Hermione Granger taking this class too?” Mandy asked, looking around for Hermione. 

“Yes, but she said she was going to Divination,” Harri explained. “I’m not sure how it is going to work, but apparently she signed up for all the classes.”

“All of them?” Padme asked with a raised brows. “She doesn’t need Muggle Studies at all. And if she wants to tell the future, Arithmancy is the superior way!”

“Arithmancy isn’t all numerology!” said a bossy voice behind them. Harri jumped.

“Hermione! I thought you were going to divination!”

“Yes, well…” she answered without answering. 

Lisa Turnip cocked her head to the side, looking at the gold chain around Hermione’s neck that was tucked into her robes.

“Hermione, there are three classes that all meet at nine, aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, taking a seat and pulling out her textbook.

“I can think of only one way someone might be able to take three classes all at the same _time_.”

“I should think it’s none of your business,” Hermione sniffed. Lisa smirked, and Harri was more than a little lost. 

Before she could ask any questions about Divination, Professor Vector strode in. She promptly put them to work figuring out their Character, Heart, and Social numbers (“Numerology, I told you!” Padme whispered).

It was a fair amount of math, but Harri quickly calculated that her Character was that of a 2. She opened her text to read, ‘ _Two introduces the idea of conflict, opposing forces, and the contrasting sides of things: night and day, good and evil, light and dark.’_ She closed it with a thump. Of bloody course, it would be. 

* * *

After Arithmany the Gryffindors had Transfiguration. Hermione quickly ducked into a bathroom, telling Harri to go on. With a shrug, Harri made her way to class. Arithmancy had been fun, and once Hermione had calmed down she was much friendlier to the Ravenclaw girls who were shooting glances at each other all of class. 

Most of Ravenclaw and Slytherin had opted to take Arithmancy. There wasn’t a single Hufflepuff, and Harri wondered if they had opted to take Muggle Studies or Divination. It was a bit odd that the houses had divided so cleanly between the electives (well except for Harri and Hermione). 

The entire Gryffindor class was already seated when she entered. They all turned back and looked at her as if she were a ghost. Hermione, who entered right behind Harri, snorted loudly. “Honestly, you aren’t all still on about that!”

With only two seats in the back, Hermione and Harri sat. “On about what?” Harri asked Hermione in a whisper.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Hermione assured, though she glared at everyone. The force of her gaze eventually convinced the other Gryffindors to face forward. 

Harri did her best to concentrate, but every other moment someone would look back and stare at Harri. She hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi and wasn’t even watching when she transformed in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes. 

“Really, what has gotten into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harri again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and-”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say anymore, Miss. Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her.

“No, Professor. It wasn’t that,” Lavender said. “Professor Trawlaney didn’t say anyone was going to die. She just… went into a trance towards the end of class. And she…” 

“It sounded like a real prediction!” exclaimed Parvati. 

“A real prediction,” Professor McGonagall said with a snort. “Why on Earth would you all think that?” 

“Like Lavender said,” Ron explained, “she went into this kind of trance. And her voice got really deep! And she started talking about-” Ron looked back at Harri again. “Then she came out of it all of a sudden!”

Harri had a sinking feeling that something very bad had happened in the Divination class. Hermione wouldn’t meet her eye. 

“What- what did she say?” Harri asked, looking wildly around the room. 

Professor McGonagall’s lips had gotten very thin, but she didn’t stop Hermione from answering. 

**“Power bend, Power Break.**

**Too much power for one Girl to take.**

**Scar like lightening, Hair like flame,**

**Dark and Light with their loosened chain.**

**If she breaks, if she falters**

**Magic runs through cracks like water.**

**Gone forever, gone for good.**

**Unless the balance is understood.”**

Harri sank down into her seat. McGonagall looked exasperated. “I see,” she said, fixing Harri with her beady eyes. 

“You should all know that Sybill Trelawney has predicted something outrageous every year. Usually, it’s death omens, I’ll grant you this is new. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues-” 

Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney-”

She stopped again, and then said in a very matter-of-fact tone, “I would let this go. ALL of you. Don’t go bothering Potter. I understand that some of you may be excited by this morning’s paper- Something I am sure Professor Trelawney saw as well- but that is no reason to harass anyone.”

Ron looked at Harri, still worried. Neville was very pale and was sitting so stiffly he could have been cursed with the Full-Body Bind.

When the Transfiguration class finally ended, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch.  Looking around for an empty classroom, Harri pulled her three friends to the side and away from prying ears. 

“Come on then,” she said to them when the door was closed. “Let’s get this done with. The rest of the school can speculate, but not you three.”

Hermione looked ready to burst, and Ron looking like he had swallowed his tongue. It was Neville who spoke up first. 

“Is it true then, Harri? You’re going to be the Lady of Light?”

Harri rocked back on her feet and bit the inside of her cheek. “Yes. I am.”

Hermione squeaked and Ron let out a choked, “Bloody Hell.” 

“Language,” Hermione hissed, bouncing up and down. 

“Oh, Harri,” Neville said, covering his mouth. “That’s awful.”

“Awful!” Hermione exclaimed. “She’s going to be Dumbledore’s successor. How could that be awful?”

“Hermione… don’t you know?” Ron asked, looking at Harri like her puppy had gotten run over. 

“Don’t I know what?” Hermione snapped back.

“Light and Dark… they never have normal lives.” Ron tried to explain. “They’re all mixed up with each other.”

“Yes, and? Harri’s going to be able to do so much for with wizarding world!”

“Yes,” Neville agreed, “But she’s also going to have to put up with that new Dark Lord, Marvolo Steward wasn’t it?”

Harri nodded stiffly, and Hermione was looking between the three of them trying to solve what she was missing. “All mixed up with each other? Do you mean… like a soulmate?”

Harri didn’t meet any of their eyes. “Yes. Like that,” she agreed. 

“It’s rotten luck, Harri,” Neville said. “Maybe he won’t be too bad, this bloke.”

“Or he'll be terrible! He’s the bloody Dark Lord. She’s going to be stuck with some rotter Dark sider for the rest of her life!” Ron snapped. “They’re never happy together.”

“But… why?” Hermione asked. “Why would Harri’s soulmate be the Dark Lord?”

“It’s just what happens. It’s about balance, or it was supposed to be. No one used to think anything about it,” explained Neville.

“Then Grindlewald went mad and started trying to take over Europe. Then with… you know, _him_ , and his soulmate never even showed up. OR maybe he KILLED them! And there was another war!” Ron was pacing back and forth, hands up in the air as he ranted. His obvious displeasure warmed Harri. It was good of Ron to treat it as more than a rotten piece of luck. 

“So Harri’s just stuck? With the Dark Lord?” Hermoine’s voice sounded very weak. 

“A bit,” Harri agreed. 

“That’s just ridiculous! Whoever heard nonsense like that! This is all rot, that’s what it is! This soulmate business is a mistake. Magic has it wrong. It’s just wonky divination, and I don’t care how we get these words on our wrists, I tell you they _don’t_ matter.”

“But they do, Hermione,” Neville said, putting a hand on the ranting girl’s shoulder. “They all mean something. It’s the path we’re supposed to take. The one that magic has put in place for us. To deny it is to test the balance.”

“And has anyone actually tested that theory, Neville? We need to look into this. Forget lunch, I’m going to the Library.”

“Hermione, stop!” Harri snapped, grabbing Hermione’s wrist before she could flounce out fo the room. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’ve been to four classes since breakfast. You’re going to go eat.”

“I haven’t been to-” 

“You were in Divination with us, and you were in Arithmancy with Harri... Somehow you’re able to be in two places at once. You’re coming with us to eat- unless you’d like to explain it to us?” Ron looked eager and rubbed his hands together in expectation. 

Hermione’s lips thinned, and she looked a fair bit like McGonagall. 

“The Great Hall then,” she groused, and the four made their way out of the unused classroom. 

* * *

Hermione had been pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. She had thought about going to Ancient Runes with Harri first, but getting out the castle had a strong appeal. 

She had learned too many things this morning and needed a break. Was that even possible? Her fingers itched to go into the Library and research for hours. Maybe if she actually understood what she had learned (Muggle peerage in the Wizarding World, Ladies of Light, and the validity of real prophecy?) she wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed. 

Care of Magical Creatures would hopefully not be filled with any revelations or extreme creatures. Knowing Hagrid…. Well, it was certainly possible that something dangerous was coming. 

Harri bid them a sad farewell, looking longly beyond them onto the Hogwarts grounds. It almost didn’t make sense for Harri to NOT be taking Care of Magical Creatures. She loved zoology more than anyone else in their class. It would be an easy O on her OWLs, and she’d certainly be the most accomplished student in the class. Harri seemed to think that she would be able to sit the OWL without the class since she spent so much time with Snape (who happened to be qualified to teach CoMC, too). But Hermione wasn’t so sure. How could you sit for a test you didn’t take the class for? Surely there would be too much missing information, too much experience, too much nuance of the Wizarding Wolrd that would be lost without the actual class. Even thinking about it made her palms sweat. 

The class started well enough. The Slytherins were rude, the Gryffindors for Hagrid, and the Creature far too dangerous for a third-year class. 

It was a bizarre looking creature. The Hippogriff had a body, hind legs, and tail of a horse. However, the front legs, wings, and head looked like a giant eagle, with cruel brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. 

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’t they?” They were beautiful, but also frightening. There was no getting over the first shock of seeing something that was half-horse, half-bird, and clearly able to kill with a swipe. 

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer-”

No one seemed to want to. Hermione, Ron, and Neville, however, approached the fence cautiously.

“Now, firs’ thing yeah gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”

The last thing you do? And Hagrid was introducing these things to thirteen-year-old Slytherins? Was he mad?

Hermione shot a sharp look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle who weren’t listening. They were talking in an undertone. Hermione was certain they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson. 

“Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter makes the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeah walk toward him, and yeah bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt.” 

“Right- who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Neville and Hermione both took two small steps back. Somehow it was Ron standing in the front. His freckles stood out against the pale white of his skin. 

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” said Ron in a wavering voice. 

There was an intake of breath. Lavender and Parvati whispered, “Oooh, no, Ron!” But Ron, with shaking hands, climbed over the paddock fence.

“Good man, Ron!” roared Hagrid. “Right then- let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

Somehow, despite Ron’s pale face and wary expression, he was able to bow to the Hippogriff without breaking eye contact. Amazingly, the Hippogriff bowed back. Hermione let out the breath she was holding when Ron actually began to stroke the beak. Those large dangerous eyes closed in clear enjoyment. 

“Righ then, Ron,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he might’ let yeh ride him!”

Ron shook his head, but Hagrid helped him up with gentle force. Then with a slap to Buckbeaks rump, Ron was off, up and away. Ron let out a yelp as he went airborne. 

Behind her, Hermione could hear Draco Malfoy mockingly echo Ron. 

She wasn’t having it. Hermione marched over to Malfoy and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away from his group. His lips curled unhappily.

“What do you want, Granger?” he asked nastily. 

“Don’t you dare do anything to ruin this,” Hermione whispered. “You and your friends listen to Hagrid, do you hear! And don’t make fun of Ron. He’s the only one brave enough to even try.”

“Don’t tell me you _fancy_ Weasley, Granger!” Malfoy hissed quietly. 

“I do not,” she snapped back. “Just- just don’t be an arse, Malfoy. For once.”

Malfoy shook his arm lose of Hermione’s grip. “Get off me,” he said loudly enough for the other Slytherins to hear. 

By this time Ron was back, looking windswept and pleased with himself. “Did you see that?” he asked Hermione and Neville proudly when he had clambered back over the paddock fence. “I couldn’t believe it! What a rush! It’s nothing like flying on a broom.” 

Emboldened by Ron’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the other hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Hermione was able to get a hesitant bow from a chestnut and cautiously stroked its beak and feathers. 

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking pleased. 

“Well if you let Weasley touch you, you obviously would let me,” Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Hermione to hear him. Hermione glanced over, and he was looking straight at her instead of Buckbeak.  “To let a Weasley touch you, well you much have no taste at all, you great brute.”

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming on his robes. 

“I’m dying!” Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!” 

“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid, who had gone very white. “Someone help me- gotta get him outta here-” 

Hermione ran to hold open the gate as Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily. As they passed, Hermione could see there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy’s arm; blood spattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him up the slope toward the castle. 

Hermione followed at a run. The great bloody git had gotten hurt because he was trying to insult her. Well if he thought getting attacked by a Hippogriff would get him out of a Hermione Granger Lecture, he was sorely mistaken. 

* * *

Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow when she saw Hermione sitting quietly in the Hospital Wing that evening. 

Before going in after Malfoy and Hagrid, Hermione realized that she had forgotten about Ancient Runes. Angry, she had traveled back in time (already a mundane activity somehow) and attended the class furious. Harri, who gave up making conversation within moments of seeing the enraged Hermione, had let Hermione run off right after class. 

She arrived before Malfoy and Hagrid did, and hid in a broom closet until she heard them thunder passed. She heard her own footsteps, waited for several long minutes, and then exited the broom closet. The Hermione of the past had gone to Runes. What had they even learned that day? Something about the alphabet?

With nothing to do but wait, Hermione started on her homework from Arithmancy. The equations were relaxing and meditative. She felt her anger finally begin to ebb away, and was only interrupted some hours later by the cough of Madame Pomfrey. 

“I assume you’re here to see Mr. Malfoy?” she asked.

“Yes, if that’s alright.”

“He needs his rest!” the mediwitch said firmly, “But yes, you may see him.” 

She led Hermione to the back bed, where Draco sat propped up on pillows. He looked very pale, especially with the white sheets and curtains that surrounded him. 

“Come to say sorry?” he asked with a sneer when Madame Pomfrey walked way.

“Sorry? You did exactly what I asked you _not_ to do. You ruined Hagrid’s first day of teaching! He could get fired, you git!”

“Is he even qualified to be teaching?” Malfoy asked angrily. “He’s not even a qualified wizard you know.” 

“Dumbledore thinks that he is!”

“What does Dumbledore know!” 

“Plenty! More than you apparently. Dumbledore would know not to insult a Hippogriff!”

“Dumbledore would also be smart enough to know that I wasn’t insulting the Hippogriff. I was insulting YOU!”

Hermione was so angry that she had to blink away tears of frustration. “Why do you have to be like this?” She asked when she finally composed herself. “I never asked for you to be mean to me. You just are.”

“You don’t have to be pathetic about it, Granger.” 

“I’m not being pathetic. I’m being a person. Something you can’t understand, apparently. I never did a thing to you, Malfoy. But you always go out of your way to make me miserable.”

“You think I’m not made miserable by you?” he sneered. “Don't you get it, Granger? Don’t you know what my family will do to yours if we ever go near each other? What my father has already tried to do to you? Or have you forgotten that last year you were petrified because my father would rather you be dead than alive and acting as a ‘Mudblood temptation,’ for his son?” 

Hermione bit her lip so hard that the skin broke. “How could I forget, Malfoy? I was staring up at the ceiling for seven months. I heard every word you spoke to me. And how you _begged_ me not to blame you. You said you wanted my forgiveness and to be my friend.  Well, guess what, Malfoy. You don’t get to have it both ways. You don’t get to insult me and be an arse and try to ruin Hagrid’s career. You don’t get to choose your Pureblood values over being an actually decent human being. Not if you want any shot at ever being friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend anyway, Granger,” Malfoy said, looking down at his arm which hung awkwardly in a sling.  

“Fine. And we won’t be. Not until you grow up and learn to value someone’s happiness more than your own stupid need to make yourself look superior.” 

“I value other people’s happiness, Granger you harpy! Isn’t it you who just came in here ranting and raving at someone who just got attacked?”

“Prove it then,” Hermione spat at him, her hair frizzing with her anger. 

“Fine. I will,” Malfoy snapped. “DOBBY!”

There was a pop and a very strange creature appeared in front of them. He had large bat-like years, bulging green eyes, and was wearing a tea towel instead of real clothes. Was this… a houself?

“Dobby,” Malfoy began, “This is Hermione Granger.” The elf gasped, looking at Hermione with those wide tennis ball eyes. 

“Dobby can’t do something to the Missus Granger!” he said in a high squeaking voice. “Please sir, don’t make Dobby!” Great tears welled in his eyes. 

“It’s not me that wants anything done to her,” Malfoy snapped. He reached down and pulled off a dirty grey sock.

“Here,” he said, throwing it to Dobby.

The houself caught the sock and looked down at it with reverence. “Master has given a sock?” the elf asked in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby?” He looked up, tears pouring out of his eyes.

“Malfoy- Draco…. What’s going on?” Hermione asked, looking at the strange creature that was dabbing at his eyes with the dirty sock. 

“You said prove it. So there. I have. Dobby doesn’t like working for us. Dobby has wanted to be free for as long as I’ve known him. So I freed him. There. I proved that I care more about someone else's happiness than how my bloody father will react. Are you happy, Granger?”

“Miss. Granger is the reason you have freed Dobby? Oh! Thank you, Miss. Thank you! Dobby will not forget this act of friendship. And from a friend of the Great Harriet Potter too!”

“Umm- yes? But- what?” 

“You have my deepest thanks! Farewell, Hermione Granger!”  And with a loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

As she had felt all day, Hermione was certain that she was missing the grander implications of what had just occurred. Maybe time travel hadn’t been such a good idea. The day was too long, and far too much had happened. When was the last time she had even eaten? 

Shakily, Hermione sank to the floor. “Oye, Granger? What are you doing?” 

“It’s been a long day, Draco,” Hermione answered, hands rubbing her temples, trying to head off the growing thrum of pain that had developed there.


	11. The Boggart in the Wardrobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Good news, I'm no longer sick all the time. Thank you all for being so kind and understanding about my hiatus. It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I'm glad to be well again and energetic enough to write. 
> 
> As someone who is officially human again, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this month to try and finish out the last 13 chapters of Captivus. That doesn't mean I'll be posting when every chapter is finished (I'm going to build a buffer gosh darn it!) but it does mean that I'm planning to be back on a once a week schedule. If you'd like to say Hi over there, I'm under the same username. Wish me luck, and there will be an update on 11/8!

Malfoy was unusually quiet when he reappeared in classes late on Thursday morning. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He slipped into the room so silently that Harri wouldn’t have noticed him at all except for Pansy Parkinson’s loud exclamation of “How is it, Draco? Does it hurt horribly?” 

Hermione had snapped that Malfoy was perfectly well on Tuesday when Harri had asked, but Malfoy had been held up in the Hospital Wing at the behest of his parents. His arm looked perfectly normal to Harri so she turned back to her potion instead of focusing further on Malfoy. 

They were making a Shrinking Solution, which Harri had brewed twice over the summer in preparation for working with Neville. As per her agreement with Snape, so long as Neville partnered with Harri and Snape had seen Harri brew the potion to his standards previously, he would leave Neville alone. 

Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Hermione and Ron so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table. Ron made a disgruntled sort of sound, somewhere between a cough and splutter. Harri couldn’t see Hermione’s face, but judging by her tense back she wasn’t pleased that Malfoy had set up beside them. 

“Sir,” Malfoy called to Snape, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-”

“Granger, work with Malfoy,”  said Snape without looking up. 

Hermione’s shoulder tightened more. Harri heard Hermione hiss, “There’s nothing wrong with your arm.”

“You didn’t bother to visit since Monday,” Malfoy replied very quietly. While not a loud class, it wasn't easy to overhear quiet conversations in Potions. The fires burning and the cauldrons bubbling usually blocked out quiet conversations. Something Malfoy most have been counting on because Harri had never heard him speak cordially to Hermione when he thought a Slytherin could overhear him.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me around,” Hermione hissed. She began to chop Malfoy’s roots roughly. While not totally uneven, they were far from Hermione’s usual prep work standard. 

If it bothered Mafloy, he didn’t say anything. He began to work on the potion by separating out a rat spleen. Harri caught snippets of whispered conversation- most of it Hermione bossing Malfoy around on what to do with the potion. Harri found that a bit funny, Potions was the only class Mafloy beat Hermione at consistently. 

Harri was showing Neville how to skin his shrivelfig when Pansy said loudly across the room, “I don’t understand why you are working next to Granger, Draco. I would have helped you with your ingredients.” 

“Well Potter is already occupied with Longbottom, isn’t she?” Malfoy answered with a glower. “If I wanted someone to mutilate my shrivelfig skin I would have sat by you, Parkinson.” 

Pansy let out a startled gasp and glowered at Hermione as if she had been the one to lob the insult. Pansy opened her mouth, no doubt to say something nasty when-

“There will be no more talking across my classroom,” Snape snapped with a glare that swept across the whole room with a chill. 

All was quiet except for the bubbling of the potions. So quietly that Harri almost missed it, Malfoy whispered to Hermione, “Seen Hagrid lately?”

“None of your business,” said Ron jerkily. 

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” said Malfoy, ignoring Ron. “My father… well, you should go see Hagrid.” 

“What did you say to your father?” Hermione asked softly. 

“Not much,” Malfoy replied with a shrug. “But he complained to the governors. _And_ to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this”- Malfoy waved his completely healed arm. Could an arm wave be sarcastic? Apparently, it could - “Who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again.”

“Could Hagrid really get fired?” Neville asked. Neither Harri nor Neville were really watching the potion, but thankfully it needed to simmer for the next ten minutes. 

“Well,” said Malfoy, his voice a full whisper now, “his Hippogriff did attack a student. That isn’t something in dispute. Father… Father’s not exactly pleased with me right now.” 

Hermione looked back at Harri, her cheeks slightly pink. Dobby. Malfoy had freed Dobby for Hermione. He was trying to downplay his injury as best he could. Had Malfoy even stood up to his father about Hagrid? Was his father… punishing him? By trying to fire Hagrid? 

The ten minutes of simmering gone, Harri instructed Neville to add a rat spleen and a dash of leech juice. It turned a beautiful forest green, exactly correct. Neville breathed a sigh of relief. 

Snape, who was walking around the room to see how each potion had turned out, didn’t even pause on their potion. Neville was practically beaming when they climbed the steps to the entrance hall. 

 

“Can you believe that git, Malfoy?” Ron asked Harri. “He’s letting his father try to fire Hagrid!” 

“I’m not sure _let_ is the right word for it.” Harri argued. “He freed that houself, you remember the one who was stopping my mail? Dobby.”

“Why would freeing a houself have anything to do with firing Hagrid?” Ron asked. 

“Oh, talk to Hermione about it,” Harri sighed, catching up to Neville. Ron turned to do just that when-  “She doesn’t have to just disappear!” 

Harri turned to look, and indeed Hermione was gone. “What class does she have now?” Ron asked Harri unhappily. “She’s been looking bloody run down. I don’t know why she’s doing this to herself. You’re making her get enough sleep, right?” 

“Yes Ron, I am ensuring that Hermione sleeps enough. We worked out a schedule. She’s budgeted in a two-hour nap and an extra meal every day.” 

“She could at least say something before disappearing like that,” Ron groused. 

“There she is,” said Harri, pointing up the stairs as Hermione was hurrying down to them. 

“You should say something,” Ron exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Hermione. “We think we’re talking to you, and then you just _poof!_ ”

“What?” Hermione looked slightly confused. “Oh- I had to go to my Muggle Studies presentation. You know that.” 

A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. Harri wasn’t surprised; she could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked, sounding remarkably like his mother. “You have _time_ to go back to the dormitory to get them."

“You know how many subjects I’m-”

“And you have TIME.”

Harri took her wand out and repaired the seam quietly. Ever since the summer, her magic had felt much more fluid. Spells were finally coming easily. Her magic wasn’t lashing out every other emotion. She still lacked some of the intuitive understanding that Ron and Neville had or the plain determination of Hermione, but she felt like something had clicked at last. Magic wasn’t hard anymore. 

“You haven’t even got Runes or Arithmancy today!” Ron insisted, looking over two of the books Hermione had handed him to keep her bag from ripping again. “It’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“It’s called studying, Ron,” Hermione replied with a sniff. “You should try it sometime,” she said as she marched off toward the Great Hall. Neville, who had been waiting at the entrance for them, looked annoyed that Harri and Ron had decided talking was more important than food. 

“Hermione needs to bloody well take care of herself,” Ron muttered as they followed after Hermione. 

* * *

Defense against the Dark Arts, as Lupin had explained to Harri, would mostly focus on Magical Creatures that year. This had been a relief to Harri, who felt that it compensated for her lack of Care of Magical Creatures class. 

Harri had snuck over to Remus’ rooms Tuesday night under her invisibility cloak and had been provided with tea and biscuits for her trouble. A pleasant enough reward for being out of bounds, she had thought from her place in a comfortable sitting room. 

Remus and Sirius had asked her earnestly if she would be willing to face a boggart in class. “I’d really prefer for You-Know-Who to not appear before all your classmates, Harri,” Remus had explained 

“Why would it be Voldemort?” Harri asked, truly curious. 

“It’s the obvious choice, isn’t it?” Sirius had answered. “You did just spend a summer with him.”

“It wasn’t a full summer,” Harri replied, biting into a crisp ginger biscuit. 

“I don’t think it’s the length of time we were worried about,” Remus sighed. “Harri, you’ve been through some shockingly bad situations.” 

The fight for the stone, the basilisk, Snape dead on the ground, Tom's expression as he plunged the knife... his body sinking into the cauldron…. The great moments of fear filtered through Harri’s mind. Still, none of them compared to the feeling she got when she pictured the alter under Yggdrasil’s branches. Of some future Beltane when the alter would be more than cold stone. 

It wasn’t even Voldemort that factored into that fear. Their interactions had been banal, almost bland. He had barely even threatened her. Had barely touched her even in passing. Harri didn’t think he was any more interested in that alter than she was. Tom… Tom had been very interested in it. The memory he had pulled her into… the one from Litha with the fire… Well, Tom was dead. What had risen out of the cauldron was cruel and predatory, but not particularly interested in Harri physically. 

As far as she could tell. 

Harri cast her mind about trying to think of something she feared more than the alter under Yggdrasil. Snape, nearly dead in the chamber, his chocked whisper to _run_ … but that was over too. Snape wasn’t dead. Fawkes had fixed everything, so there wasn’t a reason to fear it. 

“It isn’t Voldemort,” Harri assured Lupin. “If anything… it won’t be something anyone understands.” 

“That’s like yours, Moony,” Sirius said, jabbing Lupin in the side. 

“What’s yours?” Harri asked.

“A full moon,” he answered. “In reality, a full moon without my friends. But that has been the reality for so long,” he shrugged, “the moon is what it was the last time.”

“Mine used to be of my mother screaming!” Sirius exclaimed, trying to lighten their solemn faces. “You should have seen how everyone laughed when ol’ mum walked out of that cabinet and started hollering at me. Word got back to her and she sent me a howler! Then the whole school got a taste.” 

Having met the portrait of Walburga Black, Harri thought it to be a perfectly reasonable fear for anyone to have. 

* * *

Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at their first Defense lesson. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his shiny new briefcase on the teacher’s desk. His robes, while not new, were no longer the shabby ones he had worn when they had first met. Sirius must have bullied him into buying a few new things, she realized. It had slipped past her notice, but the new briefcase illuminated Lupin’s escape from true poverty. 

“Good afternoon,” he said, “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”

Lupin led them out of the classroom. He took them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. 

Peeves didn’t look up until Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song. The altercation ended with Lupin teaching them all a new spell ( _Waddiwasi_ ) and chewing gum getting rocketed up Peeves' nostril.

“Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement. 

“That you, Dean,” said Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?” There was a warm little pocket in Harri’s heart at the approval the other students held for Lupin. None of them liked Snape at all, but she could see the growing respect for Lupin. And he was hers, just like Snape was hers. Lupin had been her father’s friend. Practically her Uncle. The person who should have gotten her (what with Sirius in Azkaban) as a baby if the Ministry hadn’t been so stupid about werewolves. 

Harri found that she enjoyed the class thinking her Uncle was _cool_ , a feeling Harri had never experienced once in her life. They would think Sirius was cool too, if they knew him. Would they have liked her father? In another life would she be Harri Potter, the girl with a likable family that people wanted to be around?

They set off again. He led them down a second corridor, and stopped, right outside the staffroom door. 

“Inside, please,” said Lupin, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, a long paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. While on better terms than they had been, Harri knew that Snape held no love for Remus Lupin.

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway, he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss. Potter or Miss. Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.” 

Neville went scarlet. Harri glared at Snape. Just when he had finally stopped bullying Gryffindors in his own class, he had to come in here and bully Neville. And why? It was just like him. Picking on Neville because he was too spiteful to deal with his emotions like a normal human. Well, she’d show him.

“Neville’s great actually, Professor,” Harri said before Snape could leave. Her eyes never left his, and if Snape cared that he had infuriated his young ward, he didn’t show it. “In fact, Neville should go first.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. 

“My thoughts exactly, Harri,” Lupin agreed, clapping Neville on the shoulder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now then,” said Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. 

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped back in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.” 

Harri let the motions of the class fade away and tried to think of what it was she was most afraid of. She had been mulling it over since tea with Sirius and Remus. Was it the altar? Or something deeper. 

She could still remember the way it felt to have Vernon Dursley’s hand closed around her wrist, the way his purple face would yell and she would struggle to escape his grasp. But there had never been getting away. Only bruises… and hunger… and the dark cupboard. It wasn’t the dark that scared Harri. The dark hadn't exactly been safe from Dursleys, but it had been a respite. But in the cupboard, she had been alone, and that had been scary in its own way. When she had been old enough to understand real hunger... that was when fear and the cupboard had been tied together. That the Dursleys would forget her and one day wake up to the smell of her dead body because they had forgotten to feed her. 

Death wouldn’t be so bad though. Death had her parents. They were waiting for her, wherever it was people got to go. Vernon Dursley was no longer near her. She rarely gave him a thought. The last time she had seen him, she had been able to hang him upside down with her frenetic magic. 

Could it be… Ron? Neville? Hermione? Leaving her alone once they realized the real _truth._ She had started to believe that they wouldn’t leave her though. Not her friends who had followed her down into a pit full of Devil’s Snare. Not Hermione, who had trusted a presumed murderer and a werewolf to save her best friend. Not Ron and Neville, who had been willing to fight a Basilisk for her. 

“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin.

Harri felt a lurch of fear. She had no idea what she feared most. Maybe Lupin was right, with so many experiences to pull from there was no telling what the boggart might be. It wouldn't be Voldemort though, would it?

“On the count of three Neville,” said Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe, “One- two- three- _now_!”

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

“ _R-r-riddikulus_!” squeaked Neville.

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag. 

There was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Pavarti! Forward”

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a blood-stained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising-

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” cried Parvati.

A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

“Seamus!" roared Lupin.

Seamus darted past Parvati.

 _Crack!_ Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face- a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and unearthly sound filled the room, a long wailing shriek that made the hair on Harri’s head stand on end- 

_“Riddikulus!”_

The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice gone. 

On it went. A rat, a rattlesnake, an eyeball, then it was Dean’s turn. There was a severed hand creeping along like a crab- then it was Ron who faced down a giant spider- and then finally-

“Harri!”

Harri stepped forward, wand at the ready, and _Crack!_

It wasn’t the alter. 

It wasn’t Snape dying in the chamber. It wasn’t Ron or Neville or Hermione leaving her for good. It wasn’t even Vernon Dursley.

Albus Dumbledore lay dead on the floor. 

The typically twinking blue eyes were flat and pale. There was blood running out his gaping mouth. His skin was pale and shrunken. 

It was like being doused with a bucket of freezing water. The fear she felt looking at the body was unexpected yet obvious. Dumbledore dead meant that it was all on Harri now. It meant Voldemort, yes, but also all the magical responsibility that came along with Dumbledore’s death. Harri would never be a match for Voldemort alone. Without Dumbledore there to stand in the way there was nothing to protect the Wizarding World from the inadequacy of Harriet Potter, Lady of Light. Voldemort would win. Easily. And now one knew! No one knew just how close they all were to devastation. 

Harri was frozen. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single way to make the death of Albus Dumbledore something to laugh about.


	12. The Calm Before

If there had been any question about whether Harriet Potter was the future Lady fo Light, it had been put to rest with her boggart. As with all happenings at Hogwarts, the whole school knew about the Defense class before dinner. Snatches of conversations made their way to Harri’s ears, and it made her cheeks burn to think that  _ everyone _ was talking about her. 

“Can you think of any other reason she would fear Dumbledore being dead?”

“Can’t blame her, who would want to be the Lady of Light? Can you imagine?”

“It’s a rough gig for sure, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? What with… you know,  _ him _ .”

“That new Dark Lord isn’t a bad looking bloke. I wouldn’t mind being Potter.”

“You’d think it would be a German or French witch eventually! That’s three British ones in a row.”

“How much longer do you think Dumbledore’s got?”

“Dumbledore is really getting on in years, isn’t he?”

“It’ll be Potter before she graduates.”

Even Professor Snape appearing in Neville’s Gran’s clothes wasn’t enough to distract the student population. For weeks everywhere Harri went people would grow silent and stare at her, then whispers would start up as soon as she walked past. Hermione, Neville, and Ron did their best to shield Harri from the whispers, but there wasn’t much they could do. Even Fred and George Weasley attempted to help with distractions. There were no less than three explosions a week for the rest of September and into October. 

Harri, for her part, began to take more and more of her meals with Remus and Sirius or down in the dungeons with Snape. Sirius and Remus were overly concerned and would attempt to distract Harri with amusing stores about her parents. Even so, that was only after the first night and the first conversation. 

“You know your dad was quite the dancer, yeah?” Sirius had said. They were sitting around the small dining table in Remus’ quarters. 

“He was?” Harri asked, trying to picture a stiff and formal ballroom. Her father didn’t seem the type. He had been goofy and a slacker, hadn’t he? That didn’t lend itself to ballroom dancing.

“All the purebloods can,” Remus said. “Your dad and Sirius were such good dancers they would go off with each other more often than not.”

“You’re just jealous you couldn’t keep up with us when we would quickstep,” Sirius sniffed. 

“And you’re just disappointed that Dorcus didn’t know a thing about dancing and you couldn’t quickstep with her.” 

“Did my mum dance then?”   


“James taught her,” Sirius said, making a face of disgust. “It was horrible, Harri. Two left feet on your mum. James had a plan for this spectacular dance at their wedding-”

“He wanted to dance to Waterloo by ABBA,” Remus added. 

“My dad liked ABBA? That is supremely lame.”

“No, your mum  _ loved _ ABBA. She used to play that song for your dad and say that she was surrendering at last. After  _ years _ of resistance.” 

“And the dance didn’t work out?”

“James tried to teach her this fantastic jive. We choreographed the whole thing, it would have been spectacular.”

“It would have taken Felix Felicis and a spell on her legs to get Lily through that routine.”

“I could dance the woman’s part just fine!”

“Not all of us have been in dancing classes since the age of five, Sirius!”

“You’re just mad that you can’t dance either.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yes, because women everywhere were waiting in the wings to dance with you and James. You were both unbearable show-offs, and you know it.”

“We were not!” Sirius squawked indignantly.  

“I can’t dance,” Harri interjected. “I’ve never learned. Is that an important thing for purebloods?”

“It can be,” Remus said. “It hasn’t come up that often for me, for obvious reasons. I’ve mostly kept out of society to stay off registration lists.”

“My mother swore it was of the utmost importance,” Sirius said gleefully, “One of the few things we agree on. Not to worry, I’ll make you a proper Lady yet.”

“The Wizarding World doesn’t care about muggle peerage,” Harri reminded him. 

“They care about money. You have plenty- no thanks to your peerage I might add. You can thank your Granda Charlus for that.  The crusty elite care about magical power, and you have that too. If you want to have influence, you need to learn to dance. It’s soft power, and all about appearances.” 

“So I can come out into society like some sort of pureblood? I’ll never fool them, Sirius. It’s the little things that will always mark me as muggle-born. Muggle raised-” she corrected at Sirius’ expression,  “or however you want to put it.”

“You may think you should boil water for tea- for some ungodly reason when you can just cast a spell!- but you’re still a Potter. You’re my heir too, come to think of it. I changed my will when you were born. If I got offed in the war I wasn’t going to have some nasty relative of mine getting all that gold.” 

“Wait- you did what? Why would you make a baby your heir?”

“Oh why not,” Sirius chuffed. “Can you imagine Bellatrix’s face if she found out a half-blood was going to get the Black fortune. I’d die just so I could come back and see it.” 

“What Sirius means to say-” Remus cut him off with a stern sideways glance, “Is that you are a young lady of remarkable potential....” He paused. One of those meaningful pauses that adults use to say, ‘you should talk about the thing that is troubling you.’

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Harri asked, looking at the floor. 

“No, I’d never make you,” Remus said. “But I think you should say it all the same, Harri. Lily and James wouldn’t want you to be alone. They would want you to feel like you could talk to someone.”

“The truth… the real truth isn’t what you think.”

“I think Sirius and I both have a good idea about what the real truth is Harri. We are perfectly aware that the Dark Lord didn’t die in Albania.”

Harri looked up. “I know you know. But this… Isn’t it too horrible to say out loud?”

“I can think of a lot of horrible things, Harriet,” Sirius said, leaning forward. “I spent the last decade with dementors and all I was able to think about were horrible things. I can say them out loud if you like. My mother didn’t love me. My father thought I was a disappointment. My soulmate was better off without me. My brother is the reason my soulmate is dead. Two of my closest friends would be alive if I had made one different choice. Does that even the scale for you?”

Harri felt herself shaking. It was a full-body tremble that she couldn’t control. Her magic didn’t lash out and she didn’t feel magically unbalanced, but she still felt too full of emotion. “I’m going to be the Lady of Light when Dumbledore dies,” Harri choked out at last. 

“That isn’t the part I meant,” Sirius said. “While I certainly don’t envy you the role, I think there is another part that you should say. That you’ve kept to yourself for too long. Harri, we will still love you. No matter what those words on your wrist say.” 

“I can say some horrible things out loud if it helps,” Remus said softly. “I was turned into a werewolf as a child because of my father’s mistakes. I didn’t forgive him before he died. My mother died from a disease that could have been magically cured, but my father was dead and I was studying magizoology abroad. She died, and I could have saved her if I had been closer to home. I spent eleven years hating a man who would have died for me, and those same years loving the memory of a man who betrayed your parents.”

It was like a block cleared from the back of her throat.

“My soulmate is my parent’s murderer.”  

The nights spent with Remus and Sirius after that didn’t have many serious conversations. They were joyful stories about good friends and good fun. There were a couple of sad stories- and Harri still didn’t have the whole of what had happened to Dorcus Meadows- but all said it was good to have people to talk to. Adults who loved her while knowing the whole truth. 

Then… there was Snape.

Love and Snape weren’t something Harri often thought about. In the theoretical sense, Harri was certain that he loved her. Someone didn’t rush into the Chamber of Secrets to fight a Basilisk if they didn’t. She had known it since the Hospital Wing after Quirrell, and even if she wasn’t always certain of Snape’s intentions or plan, she was certain that he loved her. The problem with Snape loving you was that it made him worry. It made him moody. It made his bully her into extra training whenever they were together. There were no stories about the old days with Snape. There was only magic, potions, and attempting to mold Harri into someone who might stay alive long enough to  _ be _ the Lady of Light in more than just name. 

He was training her like he was running out of time.

“Not good enough,” he snarled the first Saturday of October. 

“Well, I’m doing my best!”

“Your best isn’t going to keep the Dark Lord out of your mind. Have you even been meditating?”

No. She hadn’t for the last week. She had been training for Quidditch three nights a week and fallen into an exhausted sleep without thinking about Occlumency. For two nights she had stayed up late with Ron and Neville playing exploding snap. One night had been spent with Lavender, Parvati, and some of their Ravenclaw friends in the Gryffindor dorms having a ‘girls’ night (Lavender and Parvati had decided that Harri needed a distraction again). Hermione had grudgingly joined in- and had found that she quite liked Padme and Lisa Turnip. 

There was a pressing need to meditate when Harri lay in bed, exhausted from her day. There was no burning hot feeling of invasion. No sensation that the Dark Lord was trying to reach out. Perhaps he had only done it the one time to see if he could? Maybe it had been just as uncomfortable for him and he wasn’t interested in doing it again.

“That’s very naive,” Snape snorted.

“Hey, get out of my head!” Harri gasped, startled. 

“I’m not being subtle. If you were to just focus a little more you would be able to tell that I’m there.”

“Well maybe I’m just no good at this!”

“Or maybe if you would try half as hard as you do at anything else you would make progress.” 

And on it went. 

With Snape it was always try, focus, work harder, brew more often. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to become a better witch. It was just that sometimes she wanted to play Quidditch. Or spend time with her friends. Sometimes focusing too hard on what the future held made her feel paralized with fear, and it was easier to ignore it than to confront her future reality. 

* * *

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favorite class. 

Occasionally the Slytherins would make snide comments, but Draco Malfoy seemed intent on keeping the younger years in line. For the most part, Hogwarts was unusually tension free between the four houses. What resulted was even the Slytherin’s begun to warm up to Lupin. He was the first competent Defense Professor they had had in years. 

His next few lessons for the third years were just as interesting as the first. After boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty goblin like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed. From Red Caps they moved on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys.

Harri only wished her friends were as happy with some of their other classes. Ron and Neville complained constantly about potions. While the rest of the school had forgotten that Neville’s boggart had worn his grandmother’s clothing, Snape hadn’t. He was especially mean to Neville and started making him pair with Ron instead of Harri. Hermione hated Divination, and went on about the useless lopsided shapes and symbols. Lavender and Parvati had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney’s tower room at lunchtimes, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks, as though they knew things that the other students didn’t. They would speak very softly to Harri, as though she was on her deathbed (usually this stopped within a day of their visit). 

Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the first action-packed class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. All the Gryffindors hated spending their lessons with flobberworms, which were the most boring creatures in existence if Ron were to be believed. 

Harri, feeling like she had dodged a bullet, was really enjoyed Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. They had moved on from basic numerology to examine weather patterns and ley lines. Harri finally understood why the best Potions Masters focused on Magical Creatures or Arithmancy. Arithmancy was incredibly useful when applied to Herbology. It allowed for accurate predictions about plants growing and when they should be picked to be at their most magically potent. Herbology wasn’t Harri’s favorite class- it reminded her too much of the long hot summers she had spent with Aunt Petunia’s flower beds- but seeing the Arithmic application had started to bring new life Professor Sprout’s class. 

The first week of October marked the start of the Quidditch season. Oliver Wood, a burly seventeen-year-old seventh year, was desperate to win the cup. He called a meeting on that first Thursday evening to discuss tactics. 

“This is our last chance-  _ my _ last chance- to win the Quidditch Cup,” he told them, striding up and down in front of them. “I’ll be leaving at the end of this year. I’ll never get another shot at it.”  

“Gryffidnor hasn’t won for seven years now. Okay, so we’ve had the worst luck in the wrold- injuries- then the tournament getting called off last year…” Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. “But we also know we’ve got the  _ best-ruddy-team-in-the-school _ ,” he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. 

The first game was against Hufflepuff, and Wood began pointing out all the different players to Harri whenever they sat near each other in the Great Hall. Harri had never paid much attention to the Hufflepuffs.

“See, over there? That’s Diggory. He’s the Captain for the Hufflepuffs,” Wood explained, pointing to a fifth year boy.

It wouldn’t be fair to say Harri’s world stopped. That would have been an under exaggeration. 

While she had  _ seen _ Cedric Diggory plenty of times before, she hadn’t ever taken notice of him. Maybe it had something to do with Tom Riddle and his very handsome face, but Harri had never paid attention to boys until Riddle had pulled her into the memory-fire of Litha. Since that moment… well, she had taken notice of Oliver Wood’s broad shoulders. Of Ron’s tall frame. Even Roger Davis from Ravenclaw had a certain attractive apparel that Harri had been startled to comprehend (because it had never been a thing that she noticed, NEVER!). All of it was abstract, unlike with Tom, and she wouldn’t have ever called it attraction. More like admiring art. 

That wasn’t at all what it was like to look at Cedric Diggory. 

He had dark hair and sparkling grey eyes. He was tall with chiseled features that made him look older than fifteen or sixteen. Even from the Gryffidnor table she could make out his laugh amongst the other Hufflepuff students, deep and friendly. 

Then worst of all- he looked at her! Cedric Diggory met her eyes while she was staring. Harri felt her cheeks go bright red, and she awkwardly waved to him. He smiled broadly and waved back. 

Harri wanted to die.

* * *

It had been tempting over the last two months to try and contact Harriet again somehow. 

The lure of invading her dreams regularly was strong enough that Voldemort knew it was best to stay away completely. The first time had led to useful information, the location of Peter Pettigrew. It would be easy to justify his invasions as looking for more information. However, Voldemort knew being a constant presence in his Horxcux’s mind would be counterproductive to his ultimate ends. The distance was necessary for the time being. The less Harriet thought about him the more likely she was to grow into herself. To grow into the innocence of a maiden instead of the ignorance of a child. If he was ever going to snatch away a part of her soul it was maidenly innocence that needed to be shattered. 

Time. It was always time with Voldemort. He had plenty of it, but already he wanted to speed ahead to when everything was settled. He enjoyed plotting and planning as much as the next Slytherin, but perhaps there was some Gryffindor side of him that wanted to rush ahead. To skip to the end where Harriet was the Lady of Light, bound so tightly to him that she could never break loose, and to when he held all the true power in the Wizarding Europe. 

Time. Distance. Patience. Voldemort was Slytherin’s Heir. He would be patient with his little twin flame of magic. 

He itched to follow the link of their souls. 

It was the worst part of having a Horcrux. He always wanted them safe. He wanted them close by so he could be sure that nothing was wrong with them. It was a trick and anxiety he had had to conquer. The soul always wishes to be whole, and his desires were not logical ones. To keep the vessels near was to put them in danger or give obvious importance to them.  He had locked his soul pieces away in locations that would never see the light again. He abstained from following the connection to them. The more separated he kept the less the soul pieces occupied his mind. 

Not the case with Harriet. 

She was his most vulnerable piece. Would that he could lock her away so that she never saw the light again. If only it was plausible to keep her hidden. Later, perhaps. Though most likely not. From what he was hearing from Russia, their current Dark Lord must have locked way his Lady. Had anyone heard from Anna Petranova for the last decade? It was bad practice and attracted the wrong kind of attention. 

Despite having to keep his distance, at least he finally had tonight. Samhain. Sweet little Harriet would be there, a term of the deal he had set with Dumbledore. He had at least tonight. Then Yule, Beltane, and Litha were guaranteed to him. He may need to keep his distance, but he was greedy for the sight of her. At the very least he would placate himself with this. He would have to orchestrate something to get her to the next year’s rituals as well. It would be best to arrange that before Litha- to bind her tight before she had reason to refuse. And she would refuse if he left it too late, Voldemort knew that with certainty. 

Harriet wouldn’t be happy with him come Litha. No, not happy at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a long chapter and it probably doesn't feel like a lot happened. But there are plot nuggets in here for the next three books, so I'm going to look real clever five years from now when this series is finished and someone is re-reading it (she told herself as she wrote more relationship filler instead of getting a move on with the actual plot).
> 
> Thank you for reading and I'll be back next Friday with a Samhain chapter and could it be... more about Harri having a mortifying crush? Yes, I think it could be. Also! A couple of you mentioned in the comments that you thought Harri's boggart might have been a dementor. It might have been, but Harri hasn't met dementors yet in this cannon. So that also gets to be in the next chapter (next chapter is so long... sorry if you read on mobile)


	13. Dementors and Deals

The morning of Samhain dawned bright and cold. It was a clear day with a bright blue sky, the sort of day that was perfect for Quidditch or a hike in the forest. The news that awaited them in the Great Hall did not reflect the idyllic fall weather. 

Neville read the news first. Hermione was deep in her Arithmancy text and had waved off the paper absently. Their project on the best dates to plant and harvest wolfsbane was due in a week, and Hermione was determined to calculate her times down to the millisecond. Harri absently ate a piece of bacon while surreptitiously glancing at Cedric Diggory across the hall. She was making a study of his hair, which seemed to fall perfectly into place. She was startled out of her thoughts by Neville’s hand gripping the sleeve of her robes. 

Worried that she had been caught out, Harri quickly turned to Neville. “It’s only because of Quidditch!” She hastily explained. 

“Harri,” Neville whispered, and shoved the paper towards her, looking at Hermione across the table in pale horror. 

Harri looked down at the headline:

 

**_Muggle Couple Found Conspiring with Sirius Black_ **

_Currently in Ministry custody awaiting questioning_

  
  


_“The trail of Sirius Black, thought cold after several months without sightings, has warmed up again. Thanks to a concerned and esteemed member of the Wizarding Community, Lucius Malfoy, the involvement of two muggles, Dan and Emma Granger, has been uncovered…”_

 

“Oh no,” Harri gasped softly.

Hermione looked up from her book. “What is it you two? You look like you’ve seen  a ghost.” Nearly Headless Nick, sitting three seats over, coughed loudly. 

“Hermione,” Neville said, “The paper. It isn’t- it’s not…”

“It’s your parents,” Harri said, holding the paper out. “And it’s Malfoy. I’m so sorry Hermione.”

Hermione read the paper quickly with Ron looking over her shoulder. He couldn’t read nearly as fast, but he got the gist as Hermione tore through the three-page article. 

“That rat bastard,” Ron hissed, wand in hand. “I’ll get him for this. Acting like he was trying to be _nice_ in potions.”

“Ron… just- wait,” Hermione managed, looking wildly around. “Don’t bother Malfoy. I need to find McGonagall.”

Hermione didn’t have to look far.  

McGonagall was already rushing toward the Gryffindor table, paper in hand. “Miss. Granger,” she said once in earshot, “If you’ll follow me to the Headmaster’s Office.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, looking just as pale as she had in the Hospital Wing last year. Then she began to gather all the papers, quills, and books that she had strewn around the table. Helplessly, like she wasn’t sure how to clean up fast enough and follow McGonagall.

“I’ll get your things,” Harri told her, “Just go. We’ll take care of everything with your classes too if we don’t see you.”

Hermione nodded, and stood, following McGonagall out the door. Ron began to try and cram all of Hermione’s books back into her bag, still muttering about the untrustworthiness of Malfoy. 

“Did he know?” Neville asked Harri, both of them staring down the Slytherin table where Malfoy sat. Malfoy always looked pale. He always looked smug. Who was to say that his pale smug face had anything to do with Hermione. Who was to say that he even knew his father got her parents arrested. Harri didn’t see a paper anywhere near him. He might not know yet. 

“I don’t know. We know his dad will do just about anything to get rid of Hermione. And he said that his dad was mad at him about freeing the house-elf. Maybe… do you think he was trying to punish Draco?”

“That’s a lot of benefit of the doubt, Harri,” Neville said. 

“Too much,” Ron added. “He knew. He had to have known. Now what, Hermione’s parents go to Azkaban? For some setup? I bet they don’t know anything about Sirius Black.”

“That isn’t… strictly true,” Harri whispered. Neville and Ron turned sharply away from the Slytherin table and gaped at Harri. 

“Come on,” she sighed. “There are a few things I should have explained sooner,”  and she ushered the boys out of the Great Hall into an unused classroom.

Once Harri was sure the door was closed behind them, she began, “Sirius Black is my godfather. He’s the one who found me in Albania.”

Neville audibly gasped.

“You said it was Snape and Dumbledore who found you. Now you're saying some Death Eater found you first? Was he trying to carry something out for _You-Know-Who_?” Ron asked, eyes wide. 

“No, nothing like that,” Harri said quickly. “Your rat, Scabbers, you know how the aurors came? Well, that was because he was Peter Pettigrew and he escaped from the aurors once they left your house. Sirius never killed anyone, it was Pettigrew who killed those Muggles. Black was never a Death Eater, it was Pettigrew all along. It was Pettigrew who betrayed my parents to Voldemort!”

“Not Black,” Neville mused, “Because he’s your Godfather.”

It dawned on Ron too, “And it would be really difficult for your Godfather to do something like that. He should have died!”

“Yes!” Harri exclaimed, “Exactly. So he broke out of Azkaban when he found out I was missing. He was able to use the Godfather bond to find me. Only I couldn’t leave because of the... wards. So I had him take a letter to Hermione so that she could help him get information to Remus, Dumbledore, and Snape. They might have cast first and asked questions later if Sirius just showed up without someone there to explain everything.”

“What does that have to do with Hermione’s parents?” Neville asked. “That’s just Hermione. Her parents weren’t involved.”

Harri gave Neville an incredulous look. “OF COURSE her parents were involved. Do you think Hermione was just going to wander off without letting her parents know what was happening?”  

“But they’re Muggles,” Ron added, “She had to say something, because they’re her parents, but why would she tell them all of it? How could they understand it?"

  
“Because she sat down and explained it to them!” Harri cried in frustration. “Just because they’re Muggles doesn’t mean they’re stupid. Hermione’s bloody brilliant. Where do you think she got it from? Her parents aren’t dumb! They’re dentists for Christ’s sake.”

“The tooth doctor thing,” Neville said blankly. 

“That requires years of advanced schooling,” Harri explained. “They had to do really well in school to become doctors. Think of them like… Masters of their magical branch. They’ve obtained masters in tooth health.”

“Muggles needs Masters of tooth health?” Ron asked, bewildered.

“This isn’t the point. The point is that Hermione explained everything to them. And they had a lawyer and they were trying to be sure they had as many rights as possible in the magical world. Can’t blame them after last year.”

“Because they weren’t informed about Hermione,” Neville agreed. “And that wasn’t okay at all. I told my Gran about that, and she couldn’t believe it. She’s no fan of full Muggle integration, but she certainly thinks parents need to know when their children are incapacitated like that.” 

“So they have a lawyer and knew about Black,” Ron said, “That still doesn’t explain how they could get accused of harboring him… unless… they tried to set Black up with their lawyer?”

“Yes,” Harri confirmed. “And from the looks on your faces, that wasn’t a good idea.”

“All cases are recorded in the Hall of Records,” Ron said. “My dad took me when I was a kid because they have this really cool room with all these quills that write out all sorts of things. Law cases, magical bondings, really anything that involves a magical contract. Rows and rows of parchment.” Ron’s cheeks went a little pink. “I know that’s more of the sort of thing Percy would like, but it really is interesting to look at. Most of the Ministry is boring.” 

“The Hall of Records would record that Sirius got a lawyer?” Harri asked.

“Yes. So say Malfoy was looking for anything to do with the Grangers because he’s a prick. And he also sees that Sirius Black just happens to have the same lawyer. Well… maybe he bribes the lawyer. Maybe he threatens the lawyer. But somehow he finds out that it was the Grangers that referred him,” Ron explained.

“That’s a clear connection,” Neville added. “Or at least clear enough that a bunch of Dark Families would have no problem issuing a warrant for the arrest of two Muggles. Especially if Lucius Malfoy was particularly keen about it.” 

“What do we do then? To help her parents?” Harri asked. “Are you saying… that there is actually a case to be made that they did something wrong?”

“Until Sirius Black isn’t listed as a convicted murderer, her parents have aided and abetted him,” Neville said. “I don’t know. I guess- I’ll write Gran. Or maybe I’ll ask one of the Professors if I can floo her to explain.”  

“If only Black weren't a convicted felon,” Ron mused. “Then Hermione’s parents wouldn’t technically have done anything wrong.”

“He needs a trial,” Harri agreed.

“He hasn’t had one?” Ron asked, looking over at Neville as if Neville could explain something.

“The Dark families currently have the majority,” Neville said with a shrug. “It might not be to his benefit to go to trial right now.” 

“Unless…” Harri mused, but trailed off.

“Unless what?” Ron asked.

“Unless the Dark Lord told them to give Black a fair trial,” Harri said. “Because they would, wouldn’t they?” 

“Probably?” Neville guessed. 

“How are you going to get the Dark Lord to do that?” Ron asked. “It’s not like you even _know_ him yet. Do you?” Ron looked at Harri’s silver mark covering accusingly.

“Lucky for us it’s Samhain,” Harri said, “Which means I should be seeing the Dark Lord tonight.” 

“And you’re just going to get him to give Black a trial? Just like that?” Neville asked skeptically.

“That or get him to free Hermione’s parents,” Harri confirmed. 

“HOW?” Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “The Dark Lord isn’t going to just do something for you, he’s the Dark Lord.”

“I’ll think of something! There has to be a way. It’s for _Hermione_!”

“Harri,” Neville said softly, almost sympathetically, “I don’t think that’s the way Dark Lords work. Even for you.”

* * *

Harri met Dumbledore in the Great Hall at 3:30 wearing the undyed homespun robes he had sent her. Her hair was in a simple plait and she had put in her contacts in order to leave behind her new frames that had metal screws. It would just be the mark covering to take off before entering the Ring. 

It would be the first time Voldemort might see her words. 

It would be the first time that she might see his. 

“No protests about attending?” Dumbledore asked as they made their way out of the castle.

“No,” Harri replied. “Not at all.” Not if Hermione needed her help. Her friend had come back from her meeting with the Headmaster very quiet. Something very unlike Hermione. When Harri had tried to talk to her, Hermione had just gotten up and gone to their dorm. 

“What should we do?” Harri had asked Lavender and Parvati. The two girls hadn’t had any ideas either.   

“You have to look out for her tonight,” Harri told them. “I’ve got to go with Dumbledore. Can you be sure Ron isn’t too overbearing? And maybe try to keep Draco Malfoy away from her?”

“We can do that,” Lavender agreed. “But Harri… Hermione doesn’t even like us.”

“Yes she does,” Harri assured. “She doesn’t understand you, but she likes you both.”

Parvati shook her head, “No, _you_ don’t always understand us Harri. But you do _like_ us. Hermione thinks we’re annoying. Don’t you think we would just bother her?”

“Sometimes it’s good for Hermione to be annoyed,” Harri said. “It’s better than being… like this. She doesn’t have to talk about it or anything, but she’s shut down. She’s acting like…” Harri trailed off. She’s acting like me, was the ending of that statement. 

No wonder everyone had been so worried about her last year. She’d done the same thing, hadn’t she? Emotionally shut down and disengaged with everyone. 

“Last year it was the two of you who helped me,” Harri told them. “I know I wasn’t the best roommate or the best friend last year. But you were there. That helped. Maybe that will help Hermione too until all this can get worked out.”

Uncertainly, Lavender and Parvati agreed to watch out for Hermione. 

So no, there weren’t going to be any protests about going to Samhain and seeing Voldemort. Harri needed to do something, anything, to get Hermione’s parents out of trouble. Maybe Voldemort was half behind this, maybe he wasn’t. But he had the power to reign in Lucius Malfoy and get the Grangers released. 

Dumbledore gave her one of his more firm looks. “He didn’t have anything to do with Miss. Granger’s parents,” he told her, not unkindly as they drew near the gates. There- she could feel the soft touch of his mind on hers. 

“How can you be sure?” Harri asked. “He could just lie.”

“Purposefully involving muggles skirts very close to the line of our agreement,” Dumbledore explained. “It isn’t outside the realm of possibilities, I suppose, for the Dark Lord to be involved. I wouldn’t count on it though. Lucius Malfoy needs precious little reason to interfere with Miss. Granger and her parents.”

“You might be right… but you could have just asked,” Harri told him sullenly, “Instead of invading my mind.”

“Forgive me, you are right. I was worried, rightly so it appears, that you might think you should deal with the Dark Lord to free Miss. Granger’s parents.”

“He could do something about it!”

“At more cost than we would want to pay,” Dumbledore argued. They were at the gates now and Harri felt the air grow even colder. She had known dementors were guarding the school, but unlike the rest of her classmates, she had yet to meet one.   

“We are working on freeing the Grangers,” Dumbledore told her as he opened the gate. “The Dark Lord isn’t necessary. They are muggles and very few witches or wizards believe they have the intelligence or ability to be a threat.” 

Harri followed Dumbledore through the gate. The cold intensified. Harri felt her own breath catch in her chest, the cold was inside her very heart….

Guarding the gate were several cloaked figures. Their faces were completely hidden beneath their hoods. Harri’s eyes darted downward, and what she saw made her stomach contract. Their hands were glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water… 

Vaguely she heard Dumbledore order the dementors away, but they didn’t move quickly. She could hear the slow, rattling breath, as though they were trying to suck something more than air from their surroundings. 

Harri gripped Dumbledore’s arm tightly. It was hard to stand. She couldn’t see! She was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in her ears as though of water. She was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder…

And then, from far away, she heard screaming. Terrible, terrified, pleading screams. Harri wanted to help whoever it was, she tried to stand without support, but couldn’t…. A thick white fog was swirling around her, inside her-

“Harri!” 

Dumbledore was kneeling over her, gently touching her face. 

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry to do this, my dear, but we really must get to the Stones. Close your eyes again, and focus on your breathing.”

She closed her eyes, but the squeezing feeling of apparition did nothing to help her fogged and nauseated state. Once they landed, Harri rolled onto her hands and knees and wretched violently.

Dumbledore was there, helping her stand without judgment as she spat the last of her sick on the ground. It was a struggle to stand straight and Harri felt overwhelmed by dizziness. Cold sweat was all over her body, and she was shaking violently.

“I knew I’d react poorly to dementors,” she said as jokingly as possible, “but I had no idea it would be this bad.”

“Good God Dumbledore,”  came a familiar voice. Perhaps less high than she remembered. There was even a slight accent, German maybe? But the cold cruelness of the voice was unmistakable to Harri. 

Voldemort had appeared beside them without a sound. He reached out a hand to steady the very unsteady Harri, looking at Dumbledore accusingly.

“You didn’t drug the girl to get her here, did you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Dumbledore replied calmly as Harri tried to free her arm from Voldemort's burning grasp. He didn’t let her go. “I should have cleared the gates of dementors before Harri got too close. They didn’t… agree with her, I’m afraid.”

“You apparated her immediately after an extreme reaction to dementors?” Harri, eyes closed as they led her stumbling form toward the circle couldn’t see Voldemort’s face, but she could hear his extreme displeasure. 

“Time waits for no man,” Dumbledore mused. They stopped moving. “Let us divest ourselves of metal, Harri.”

Shakily, Harri tried to free her arm from Voldemort once more, but he still wouldn’t let it go from his vice-like grip. Taking a deep breath Harri looked up at last to meet his gaze. Only… Voldemort wasn’t looking at her face. He was looking down, instead, at the silver mark covering. 

He found the clasp and slid the thick bangle open. His eyes never left her wrist as he read the words written there. Harri tried again to tug her arm away, and this time he let her go. 

Dumbledore helped steady her, and Harri wiped her brow of the cold sweat that wouldn’t stop beading. “This way,” Dumbledore said, guiding her gently into the Ring of Brodgar. “I’ll conjure you a pillow and some chocolate. You should rest while we attend to our task.”

* * *

The fires had been lit. The words had been spoken. The blood had been given. 

It was different this time.

Last time Harri had felt like a wild doe, leaping and skittering across the fire in a rush of pure light magic. She hadn’t realized how unbalanced the ritual had been until she felt Voldemort’s magic there as well, meeting Dumbledore’s. They didn’t mix. 

It felt like tension, like a chord on a piano not played quite right (a sharp when it should have been a flat). Harri’s own magic expanded out of her for the first time in weeks when she added her blood to the fire. It rose and met with Dumbledore’s, elated and built up by the Light, but it also swirled and combined with Voldemort’s. Their magic, always so similar, blended and faded together into a perfectly tuned song. It was quieter than it should be, Harri could tell. The blast of Dumbledore’s and Voldemort’s magic had sounded like a loud ringing in her ears (loud enough to wake the dead, she mused). 

Her mix with Voldemort sounded like a prelude. The beginning of something, the overture of a symphony perhaps. It was lovely, but clearly not the dominant force yet.

“If that doesn’t demonstrate what I’ve been saying for years, I don’t know what does,” Voldemort told Dumbledore smugly. The three had settled into a surprisingly peaceful companionship. Time began to move on and it was nearing nine. 

“I never disagreed with you,” Dumbledore replied blandly. “I always understood your complaint. That did not absolve you of your duties.” 

“Duty,” Voldemort scoffed. His red eyes gleamed across his fire as he stared at Harri. Like a snake waiting to strike, she thought. He kept looking at her that way. Not the same as what Tom had done, that had dripped with _longing_. Somehow Voldemort’s gaze was worse. It was a grown man wanting to devour her. 

Harri slowly broke off another piece of chocolate. She was much better now, the effects of the dementors completely gone. It had taken time after the fade of magic from the fire. Her magic had returned for its dance (song? combination? expansion?), and Harri had felt overly drained. It had taken tea, chocolate, and several hours to return her to her natural vigor. 

Their peace was broken by a silver doe that leaped into the Ring. Dumbledore stood the moment he saw it, and walked towards the beautiful silvery creature. 

“What is that?” Harri gasped in awe. What a beautiful piece of magic!

“A patronus,” the Dark Lord answered. “Usually they’re used to ward off dementors, but they can also be used to send messages. More reliable and faster than an owl.”

The silvery glowing light faded, and the doe was gone. Dumbledore returned to them. 

“There has been a disturbance at the school,” Dumbledore told Harri. He looked truly worried. “I do not believe that it can wait until morning.”

“It’s not more about the Grangers? Is it?”

“No,” Dumbledore confirmed, looking over at Voldemort. He didn’t want to say more, Harri guessed. He didn’t want Voldemort to know what was going wrong at the school.

“I can’t imagine it will take more than an hour of my time. Long enough to secure a few things at the castle. Protections for the students,” he explained to her.

“Are you trusting me alone with your little apprentice?” Voldemort chimed in. He was far too happy about this.

“You know the rules,” Dumbledore said, steal in his voice. “You do not touch what is mine by magic. She is of the Light, the Ring of Brodgar protects her on this night. You may not take her from the Ring or use magic to harm her.” 

“Nor would I,” Voldemort said blandly. “Haven’t we already established that dear little Harriet holds little use for me at this time.” 

Dumbledore glared at the Dark Lord, his magic swirling around like a tornado. “Your word that you will honor the old laws, Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore demanded.

“My word is my bond,” the Dark Lord replied, “You will find Harriet Potter as you left her when you return.”

Dumbledore calmed. And then… Dumbledore left.

Harri couldn’t believe it. He had actually gone back to the school. Leaving her alone with Voldemort. 

Who looked far too satisfied with the arrangement. He wasn’t acting the way he had when they had last met. He had treated Harri with distance, had barely spoken to her at some points. So why was he looking at her like this now? Was it the combining of their magic? Was it having some sort of effect on him?

Her stomach roiled. 

“Well then, Harriet. Why don’t you tell me about your school year?” He asked when they heard Dumbledore apparate away. 

“What?” That hadn’t been expected. 

He shrugged, and moved around his fire to be closer to hers. There were maybe ten feet between them. Harri sank down onto one of the pillows Dumbledore had conjured and pulled her wool cloak tightly around herself. 

“Dumbledore may be gone for some time. I see no reason to sit in silence. Now, you’ve been at school for two months.”

“Yes. I have,” she looked at him speculatively. Maybe she had been imagining all the predator movements and snake-like glares. Maybe it had all been a trick of the light. 

“Third year and now you’re taking- what was it?” he asked, then finished without pausing, “Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes?”

“Not Care of Magical Creatures, actually,” Harri clarified. “I switched to Arithmancy.” 

“A pity you had to choose,” he said, inclining his head. “In my day we were afforded more options and an extra time slot to. Though Muggle Studies wasn’t offered then,” his lips quirked in amusement.

“Muggle Studies is a useful class,” Harri protested firmly. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Voldemort agreed, finally sinking down to sit on his own conjured pallet. “Many of the students I went to school with would have benefited from such a class. Though tell me, how many Purebloods bother with it?”

“Not many,” Harri admitted. “A few Hufflepuff purebloods, I think. For some reason, all the Gryffindors seem to take Divination.” He easily caught on to her dismissive tone. 

“Not a fan of Divination, Harriet? Arithmancy isn’t all that different.” 

“It seems fake,” Harri confessed. “My friends do their homework and just make everything up. They get good marks. Wouldn’t the Professor be able to tell that her students are all faking their homework?”

“Yes, that does sound like the Gryffindors of my day as well,” he agreed with a small chuckle. “Divination is a tricky art, or so I’ve been told.  I doubt any of your classmates would be able to divine a thing.” 

“You think it’s nonsense too!” Harri accused. 

“I would not say that I discount Divination,” Voldemort countered. “No, not nonsense. It is simply magic that I can not touch. Though I grant you, unless one is in possession of the ‘inner eye,’ there is little point in the study.”

“But you do believe it?” Harri asked, worried. “You really do think there is… prophecy?”

“Prophecy?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. “Has someone told you a prophecy, Harriet?”

“It was made by Professor Trelawney,” Harri said making a face. “I don’t think she’s a source to be trusted.”

A cold smile spread across his face. “Do you know the full prophecy then, Harriet? I should dearly like to hear it.”

“What? No. Did you hear me, it was Trelawney! She isn’t- it isn’t even- you really believe in this stuff?”

“I have reason to believe that Sybil Trelawney is in possession of the ‘inner eye’. She is the great-grandaughter of the famed Cassandra.”

“I don’t want it to be real,” Harri said. 

“Tell me anyway, Harriet. Come now, we can bargain for it. What is it you would like?”

Was it that easy? Tell him what Trawlney had spouted off on the first day and he would do something for her? Why would he care about it? Then again, Voldemort was the one who kept bringing up balance and the importance of Light and Dark. Dumbledore too. It was a prophecy that scared Harri, but that didn’t mean it was important or valuable to anyone. She was willing to lose the words… for Hermione.

“My friend’s parents were recently arrested for conspiracy with Sirius Black. I’m guessing giving him a trail is too much to ask for,” she paused to see if his expression changed, but it didn’t. Voldemort must be excellent at playing poker. “So what I want is for Emma and Dan Granger to be released and their names cleared. If you promise me you’ll make sure that happens, and that their lives return to the way they were before- no changes in their rights involving Hermione!- I’ll tell you the prophecy.”

“Deal,” he said, looking like the cat that had caught the canary. His expression was nasty, and Harri realized instantly that she had bargained too low. There was nothing to be done for it. 

“Okay- it went like this… **Power bend, Power Break./ Too much power for one Girl to take./ Scar like lightning, Hair like flame./ Dark and Light with their loosened chain./ If she breaks, if she falter/ Magic runs through cracks like water./ Gone forever, gone for good./ Unless the balance is understood.** ”

Voldemort stood stalk still. Like a snake sighting prey. He blinked. Then he blinked again. Then Voldemort burst out laughing. 

Feeling peeved Harri glared, “What? Why are you laughing? I told you it wasn’t any good.”

“And when Harriet,” Voldemort asked, shoulder shaking, “did Professor Trelawney make this _prophecy_?” Voldemort could barely get the word out. 

“On the first day of term! I wasn’t there, but she made it during the 3rd year Divination class.”

“Oh, this round to you, Harriet!” he said, laughing once more. “No wonder you didn’t think it was worth anything. I should have been more specific.”

“More specific?”

“This wasn’t the prophecy I thought you meant. There is another, also made by Sybil Trelawney. Some thirteen years ago. I had thought- but no. Dumbledore hasn’t told you about that.” 

“And you believe _that_ one.”

“I have a partial pensive memory of that telling. I’ve seen how she delivered it. It was authentic. I was certain then, and I am certain now.  What you just recited,” he laughed, “For future reference, Harriet, I’ve yet to hear of a prophecy that rhymes.” 

 “It’s not real?” Harri asked, relieved. 

“Not at all,” Voldemort assured, “September 2nd was the day your article was printed, correct? In the _Daily Prophet_?”

“Yes… it was,” Harri remembered. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots, “She was trying to impress the class on the first day. So she made it up going off the article!”

“Exactly. A good trick. It sets the right kind of mood for a Divination class. Atmosphere and showmanship make up a good part of leadership and handling unruly participants.”

“You’re not… angry then?” Harri asked. “You’ll still honor our deal?”

“To the letter,” Voldemort agreed. “As I said, this round to you, Harriet. I was over-eager to hear the rest of our prophecy. It is something I have wanted to hear for many years now. If I had known the full contents all those years ago… Samhain of 1981 could have gone much differently.”

Harri’s eyes widened. Samhain of 1981. The night Voldemort had killed her parents. ‘Our prophecy’ Voldemort had just said. It wasn’t just that he thought she knew some random prophecy from Sybil Trelawney. He had thought she had known the one that had sent him after _her_ as a baby all those years ago. 

A prophecy that had led to her parent’s death.

Snape. What was it he had said last summer? He had overheard something. Something that had led to the death of her parents. Dumbledore, last year at this very spot, had told her that Voldemort had learned something that had to do with his death. 

Voldemort still didn’t have all of it though. An incomplete accounting… somehow. 

“Trelawney made a prophecy that Snape overheard,” Harri said softly, looking into Voldemort's glowing red eyes. 

He inclined his head in confirmation.

“But Snape didn’t hear all of it… but someone did. It has to be Dumbledore, doesn’t it? You thought he told me.”

“Yes,” Voldemort agreed. “He’s the only one to have heard it in entirety. But there is a record of it Harriet. Did you know that every prophecy received in Magical Britain must be legally submitted to the Department of Mysteries?”

“There’s a copy of it?”

“Yes. In the Hall of Prophecy deep in the Ministry. Contained in an orb that is cursed so that only the one the prophecy is about may lift it from its shelf.” 

“So why haven’t you gone to get it?” Harri asked, once again seeing that Voldemort was up to something. That he _wanted_ something from her. 

“I? Thanks to our little deal, Harriet, Marvolo Steward would look very odd requesting entrance into the Hall of Prophecy. Let alone retrieving one intended for Voldemort.” 

“You want me to get it,” Harri realized. 

“I’d make it worth your while, little Harri,” he said. He always sounded so damnably condescending when he called her Harri.

“It might be difficult for you to request entry as well. A minor would require the consent of her guardian. In your case… I doubt Severus wants you to see the contents of that orb any more than Dumbledore does. But you have cunning, don’t you Harriet? You have an invisibility cloak. Should you be caught- well… who could blame dear Harriet Potter for wanting to know the truth?”

“And what will you give me?” Harriet asked, hands balled in frustration. 

“Why Harriet, I’ll give you exactly what you want. I will give your Godfather a trial. I will ensure that Sirius Black is a free man. All it will cost you is the orb. Not such a hard task, is it?” His tone was silky and persuasive. It did seem like a fair trade. What did she care if Voldemort had some prophecy? It was from Trelawney! It was probably another fake anyways.

A pop could be heard in the distance. Dumbledore was back from whatever emergency had happened at the school. 

Voldemort didn’t break eye contact with her. Slowly, Harri nodded. “Fine,” she agreed. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to end with Harri and the Dementors at the Quidditch game (and SO much more embarrassing crush content). But it didn't. Because that chapter was 9,000 words and way too long. So I've added two projected chapters and here we are. Still a good place to end the chapter, but will this story ever be done? Not the way I write apparently! 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos.


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